Mother Knows Best
by Cassandra Elise
Summary: Emma Loses a husband. Steed Gains a Wife. Cathy Shares a Memory. Tara Tries to Forget. Revised Chapter FIVE 2/12/03
1. First Night

The Avengers  
  
A large stately hotel rose above the other buildings in London, England. A peculiar man donning  
shades entered the hotel and hurried to one of the multipurpose great rooms located on the first  
floor. Removing his sunglasses, he stepped up to an obese man in a wheelchair.  
  
"Ah, Smyth you finally arrived," the fat man commented to him.  
  
"I left my flat as soon as I got your message," Smyth replied to his companion almost  
apologetically. "What seems to be the trouble?"  
  
"As you know, a party is going to be taking place in this room later. Several people we haven't  
seen in awhile will be present, including Emma Peel. She will naturally hover around Steed, and  
the two will be inseparable the rest of the evening." He gazed at two photographs in his hands  
before setting them down on a table.   
  
One of the pictures was of a gorgeous woman with reddish brown hair and an impeccable smile.  
The other photo was of a gentleman attired in a suit and matching bowler. He had a rather  
puckish grin spread across his handsome face.  
  
"We must make sure they don't discover the truth at the fete," the man in the wheelchair  
continued, "understand?"  
  
"All right, Mother; you know best," Smyth droned in an almost hypnotic tone. He snapped out of  
his delirium and marched out of the room, determined to do his job right.  
  
The other man, or "Mother," sighed dismally and shook his head. He wheeled out of the room  
after Smyth, leaving his two photos behind.   
  
Mother Knows Best  
  
Emma Loses a Husband  
Steed Gains a Wife  
  
Cathy Shares a Memory  
Tara Tries to Forget  
  
First Night  
  
The gathering was the usual affair for the year, 1969 to be exact. Fifty or so people were milling  
around in an enormous open room, the women wearing their miniskirts and outrageous hairdos,  
the men dressed formally and casually- no tuxedos, please! Some men, mostly the younger chaps  
with more spunk, were dressed rather too casually for the party, and this was quite a crime for a  
certain well-heeled gentleman.   
  
He stood off to the right of the room, brandy glass in hand, discussing the inclement weather for  
the time of year. Dressed in an expensive grey suit, he had the air of a man who knew his proper  
place in society and wasn't ashamed to show it. His bowler hat and umbrella, two necessities for  
traveling, were hanging on the hat rack near the entrance of the room and mostly likely would  
still have been with him if it were decent for such a party.  
  
His charming partner for the evening was adorned in a sleeveless, lime green dress complete with  
a miniskirt. Unfortunately, this outfit did nothing for her figure or her beauty. It wasn't the  
colour, mind you, but some people weren't made to wear those sexy dresses.   
  
Despite this drawback in her clothes, the woman was looking rather nice. Her bobbed dark brown  
hair had been left alone, thankfully, and her little lime purse was the perfect addition to her outfit.   
  
As was mentioned before, the couple were immersed in the trivial subject of the weather. They  
undoubtedly would have been discussing a much more important topic if it weren't for the fact  
that a third party was present at the moment. This lady lacked the intellectual quality that had  
made the other two quite partial to each other.  
  
In fact, she had just remarked quite stupidly that she recognized every face in the room. This  
could have been amazing if it wasn't for the fact that the party was for everybody who worked at  
a certain company, an agency actually.  
  
Yes, all the people at the party worked for an important Spy Agency. No one knew the name of  
the Agency, except, of course, the people who worked there, so over the years, the spies became  
known as the Avengers.   
  
On this certain evening, the agents, retired and still enrolled, amateur and professional, were  
gathered at a fancy room at a hotel, waiting for the host to show himself. You see it was a  
mystery party. One of the guests was the host of the party and everyone had to guess who the  
person was. If they guessed correctly, they would win a ridiculous chintzy prize that is customary  
at social functions.  
  
Now the woman who had been commenting so stupidly that she knew everybody was a Mrs.  
Diana Parker. How she graduated from spy school was a mystery in itself, but being that all were  
proper British folk, they never made a comment on it.  
  
Suddenly Mrs. Parker asked her two polite but bored companions, "Who do you suppose is the  
host?"  
  
The other lady replied, "I really have no idea, Mrs. Parker." This was a lie, but the lady felt it was  
the only decorous thing to say to an ignorant woman.  
  
"Really, Tara!" cried the gentlemen. "I'm surprised that you don't even have a guess!" Tara gave  
him a look, which he got immediately.   
  
"Miss Tara King, I think you have something to do with this mystery!" exclaimed Mrs. Parker.  
"And the same goes for you, Mr. Steed." Tara and Steed exchanged knowing glances again, for  
they knew for certain that they were not involved in the mystery. "I must tell Mother of my  
discovery!" Mrs. Parker walked over to a terribly obese man who was puffing a cigar and  
drinking scotch as if it were water.  
  
Yes, this man was Mother, the head of the agency. Why he chose the name "mother" was an  
enigma to all agents and probably himself. It was most likely a name that popped into his head on  
a whim and that seemed to stick. In any case, many of the agents had little idiosyncrasies like  
that, and over time, it was just accepted.  
  
"Now that we're alone, is it all right to speak openly about certain things, or do you think the  
walls have ears?" asked Steed, smiling.  
  
"Even if the walls did have ears, I'd have to tell all that is on my mind." Tara looked suspiciously  
around before continuing. "Now, I really want to know who you think the mystery host is. I  
believe it's Smyth; now don't laugh."  
  
"Smyth?" Steed repeated with genuine astonishment in his voice.   
  
"Yes," Tara began as enthusiastically as her British propriety could allow. "I heard from  
Pemberly that Shuston said that Mitchell was the host. Now if this was so, Mitchell would not  
have denied such accusations so earnestly and sworn it was Smyth. This is conclusive evidence  
that Smyth must and is the host."  
  
"No, Tara, it's not that simple," Steed argued ardently. "I believe it is Mother."  
  
"But everyone expects the mystery host to be Mother!" Tara protested indignantly. "He's the  
head of the agency, so everyone automatically assumes he'll be the head of the party."  
  
"That is the key point." Steed gave his empty brandy glass to a passing waitress before  
continuing, "Since everyone expects it to be Mother, their spy instincts will tell them that is too  
simple, and Mother would not be the host and make the game so easy. Thus they must guess that  
somebody else is the mystery host. Now knowing that everyone won't guess him, Mother can  
host the party with ease and stump all those gullible agents. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
Tara began to nod her head, but then slowly and shamefacedly shook it. "Oh, Steed I'll never be  
as bright as you!" She stared at him adoringly then sighed. "Now that you've told me who the  
mystery host is, I don't know if I should still stick to my first guess. After all, I wouldn't have  
guessed correctly if you hadn't told me." She mulled over this for several moments until she  
concluded, "When the time comes I'll say that Smyth is the Mystery host."  
  
Steed was about to answer when the door opened and in stepped the breathtaking Mrs. Cathy  
Gale. She was in a plain, sleeveless black dress, complete with a big white belt and a square  
buckle. Her feet were adorned with black high heels, and underneath her skirt, hidden from view,  
was a smart, black garter. Tucked neatly inside the garter was a small pistol. On any other person  
this getup would have been utterly ridiculous, but on Mrs. Gale it seemed to personify her  
outgoing yet, at the same time, restrained characteristics.   
  
She walked composedly over to Steed, who smiled gregariously at his former partner in crime  
fighting. "I hope I'm not intruding," she began earnestly.  
  
"You are," returned Steed coyly. "But since you are a dear old friend, I shall forgive you."  
  
"I hope I am not old, yet!" Mrs. Gale exclaimed, frowning slightly, but then she smiled briefly.  
  
Tired of being ignored, Tara decided to start a conversation in which all could be involved. "How  
is your husband, Mrs. Gale?"  
  
Mrs. Gale's face clouded over for a moment, but quickly regained enough composure to reply,  
"My husband has been dead these last eight years, Miss King."  
  
"Yes," agreed Steed, somewhat annoyed to see that his current partner could be so inconsiderate.  
After standing in an uncomfortable silence that seemed to have come over the two ladies in a  
matter of seconds, Steed tried to make the situation light by adding, "I've often wondered why  
you haven't remarried, Mrs. Gale. You are a very attractive, not to mention an incredibly smart  
woman."  
  
"There's no one I am remotely interested in." Cathy jostled her flowing, blond hair becomingly.  
  
Steed smiled charmingly and glanced at the pretty waitress that had collected his brandy glass  
earlier. "And there's no chance of me ever marrying you. I plan to be single all of my days."  
  
"And, I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth," Mrs. Gale replied saucily. Steed  
laughed nervously, something he did often when he had been insulted by the sharp Mrs. Gale.   
  
"Isn't there anyone you would possibly marry?" Tara rather hopelessly asked Steed. Cathy Gale  
realized what a pathetic state of infatuation Tara had for Steed, but she kept silent. If it was one  
thing she had learned in the agency, it was to remain silent unless absolutely necessary.  
  
Steed was about to reply to Tara, when he was interrupted again. This time the intruder was not  
the Mrs. Gale, but Mrs. Parker, who had wandered back to Tara and Steed after she had been  
rudely pushed aside by Mother. "Mr. Steed is rather funny to talk of being single."  
  
"Why? I could marry anyone if I wanted to. I just never wanted to. Why have only one woman  
for the rest of your life, when you can have them all?" Steed smiled at the three ladies clustered  
around him.  
  
"Oh, Steed you are such a cad!" Mrs. Parker cried joyously. "Of course, you can't marry  
anybody! You already-"  
  
"Mrs. Parker," Cathy began edgily, "Bimba La Trife." Mrs. Parker placed a hand over her mouth  
and suppressed a giggle. Then she sauntered over to Mother again.  
  
Tara and Steed stared at Cathy as if she had suddenly had a fit of insanity. Tara expressed this  
thought to Mr. Steed, saying, "I think our poor Mrs. Gale has fallen victim to the bottle."  
  
Steed refused to believe this of his sensible ex-partner in sleuthing. "I'm sure 'Bimba la Trife' is  
just a code for something very confidential. I do recall learning a phrase similar to that when I  
was in training. Now let me think . . ."  
  
"Keep quiet," Mrs. Gale said abruptly.  
  
Steed stopped in mid-sentence to exclaim, "Why, Mrs. Gale, you surprise me! I thought a lady  
like you didn't behave so rudely, and to an old friend, too!"  
  
"Sorry, Steed, but you misunderstood me. I was merely telling you that Bimba la Trife means 'be  
quiet' in code." Cathy sexily placed her hands on her hips.  
  
"You really didn't have to tell me, Mrs. Gale, for you know I would have figured it out  
eventually."  
  
"I just wanted to save you the time and trouble." Cathy smiled wryly and wandered over to the  
buffet table. "I'll see later, all right Steed?" she called over her shoulder.  
  
Steed gazed admiringly at Cathy before turning back to serious matters. "What do you think of  
Mrs. Parker's dialogue?" he inquired of Tara. "Don't you find it unusual that she should say I  
couldn't ever get married? And what about her last words before she was interrupted by Mrs.  
Gale: 'You already-'"  
  
Tara shrugged nonchalantly. "I think that she is drunk, and talking nonsensically."  
  
"Then why would Mrs. Gale tell her to be quiet?" Steed scrunched his forehead in deep  
contemplation, while Tara let his question sink into her mind.  
  
Suddenly a slim woman entered the hotel room's front door, the air of a queen about her.  
However, the regal mien did not last long, for as soon as she spotted Steed, she pounced at him  
as a vivacious cat might pounce on a bird. Then she uttered a sentence that was so obvious that  
from any other woman's lips it would have seemed ridiculous. "Steed, you're here!"  
  
Mr. Steed's eyes seemed to light up at the beautiful woman's presence. "Mrs. Peel, how  
wonderful to see you again!" He scanned her figure which was clad in a lavender dress. Tiny  
straps were the only thing that kept it hanging on her body, and the low-cut front was not at all  
decent for a married woman. Mrs. Peel had sensed this, so she had wrapped a lavender feather  
boa around her neck, hiding everything that shouldn't be shown. "I declare you look lovelier  
every time I see you."  
  
"The same goes for you, Steed," Mrs. Peel replied properly and coquettishly. Only she could  
make a normal sentence have two different accents at the same time.  
  
"Has it really been almost two years since I've seen you last, Mrs. Peel?"  
  
"Unfortunately, yes," she replied remorsefully. She glanced around the room, searching for the  
bar. "Have you tried the champagne yet?"  
  
"No, I've been too occupied to get away from this spot."  
  
"How is it then that you found time to get a glass of brandy?" Tara asked nonchalantly, even  
though jealousy was ripping though her veins. It seemed that every woman, excluding herself,  
was receiving more attention from Steed. Why he had even talked to Mrs. Parker more!  
  
Mr. Steed cleared his throat nervously, while Mrs. Peel raised an eyebrow. "It seems you have  
been more busy than you realized," Mrs. Peel said dryly.  
  
"The truth is I wasn't in the mood for champagne," Steed confessed.   
  
Mrs. Peel made a noise of mock dismay, followed by several "Tsk, Tsk, Tsk." She cocked her  
head slightly to the right, her reddish brown hair falling over her left eye. "Well since you're not  
interested in the most marvelous invention to come out of France, I'll just go fetch a glass of  
champagne for myself."  
  
Steed didn't seem to hear her, for he was too captivated by her beauty. He wished she wouldn't  
make herself so darn attractive, and wondered why the most beautiful women were married,  
obviously forgetting about Tara, the widowed Cathy Gale, and any other single women in the  
room.  
  
Mrs. Peel sauntered over to the bar, leaving Tara and Mr. Steed once more alone. "Mrs. Emma  
Peel doesn't seem quite as charming as when I last saw her," Tara proclaimed, venom in her  
usually sweet voice.  
  
"I find that her charisma has grown over the course of time," Mr. Steed argued gallantly. "I see  
we have different opinions on Mrs. Peel, so I think it would be wise to leave her out of our  
conversation."   
  
Emma returned with her glass, sipping and making a horribly sour face. "This champagne is  
ghastly! Here, try it for yourself and see what you think." She thrust her glass at Steed but  
somehow managed not to spill a drop.  
  
Steed tasted the champagne, shook his head, and sighed. "It really is dreadful. I wonder what  
came over Mother when he purchased this vintage."  
  
"Steed, you'll give the mystery host away!" Tara cried indignantly.  
  
"Don't worry, Miss King, I had already figured it out before I came." Emma Peel directed her  
attention back to Steed. "Somehow I don't believe Mother knew about the champagne. Hosts  
don't usually cater their own party unless they want the absolute best in everything . . ."  
  
"And Mother isn't a person who cares if his hors d'oeuvre are soggy and his champagne is too  
sweet," Steed finished her sentence.   
  
Mrs. Peel didn't seem to mind at his interruption. But this was understandable, since finishing  
their sentences for each other was an old habit of theirs. She took the champagne glass back from  
Steed and sipped it again. "What year do you think this is from?"   
  
"Nineteen forty-three I dare say. Nineteen forty-three has a very poignant taste to it, very much  
like this awful drink."  
  
"Really; I was sure it was Nineteen forty-two!"  
  
"It certainly is not; Nineteen forty-two is bearable, but a year earlier makes it very sweet, more  
like soda than champagne! A perfect champagne must be mellow, but with a tinkling bite to it."  
  
"You're right, Steed, as always."  
  
"Oh, I must speak to Mother about this immediately. I don't care if it will give the secret host  
away; this is intolerable! Excuse me ladies." Mr. Steed went in search of his boss and host for the  
evening.   
  
Mrs. Peel looked at the glass in her hand and offered it to Tara. Tara, too distracted watching  
Steed, took the glass willingly. Automatically, she brought the glass to her lips, but stopped  
herself from drinking it just in time. She beckoned to a passing waitress, who took the detested  
glass away.   
  
Tara addressed her rival, "Do you two often share champagne glasses, Emma? You don't mind if  
I call you Emma do you?"  
  
Emma didn't seem the least bit fazed at the inquiry. "Occasionally we do, but usually we have  
separate straws. I really am not accustomed to being called 'Emma', so I would prefer you called  
me Mrs. Peel like everyone else."  
  
"Don't tell me your husband doesn't even call you 'Emma'?" After receiving no response, Tara  
inferred that Emma was not familiar with her husband calling her by her first name. "I feel sorry  
for you then, Mrs. Peel."  
  
"Listen, let's not pretend you aren't jealous of me, Miss King," Emma Peel began composedly. "I  
am quite aware of your infatuation with Steed. Most every girl fancies herself in love with him at  
least once in her life; it would be unnatural if they didn't feel something for a respectable, smart,  
dashing man like John Steed." Her complacency irked Tara even more than Mr. Steed's devout  
attention to Emma.  
  
"Have you ever been in love with him?"  
  
This question put Emma off guard, but she quickly regained her calmness before she replied, "I  
admit that I formed an attachment for Steed for a while, but after someone saves your life a  
hundred times, it's quite natural to have affections for them, unless you're a totally insensitive  
person. Now if you'll excuse me, Tara, I must find something to wash this horrid taste out of my  
mouth." Mrs. Peel walked away, the air of a martyr about her.  
  
Meanwhile, Steed was trying to tell Mother what was wrong with his champagne. "Mother, I  
must speak to you about this champagne; it's dreadful." He glanced at the man in the  
wheelchair, who was sitting behind a long table. Mrs. Parker and Mother's personal secretary  
were standing next to him.  
  
Mother looked up from his scotch. "Steed, I've been looking for you," he began grimly.  
  
"Then you agree with me?" Steed perched himself on the edge of the table.  
  
"What the devil are you going on about, Steed?" When Steed looked confusedly at him, he  
continued with his dialogue. "Mrs. Parker tells me you've been talking about marriage and so  
forth."  
  
"Oh, Mrs. Parker that's a wonderful offer, but I'm afraid I must refuse you. Besides, unless I am  
mistaken, you're married already."  
  
"What are you talking about, Steed?" Mrs. Parker looked around in wonderment as if he might  
be addressing another Parker in the room.  
  
"Steed," Mother started, nails drumming impatiently on the table, "what did Mrs. Parker tell you  
earlier?"  
  
"Merely that I can't ever marry because I already-"  
  
"What? What did she say to you?" Mother leaned forward in his wheelchair, his scotch sloshing  
around in the glass.  
  
"That's all; isn't that right, Mrs. Parker?" Steed glanced from Mrs. Parker to Mother, trying to  
read their faces.  
  
"Yes, that's what I told Mother, but he wouldn't believe me!" On the verge of crying, Diana  
Parker sighed and tried to stop her trembling lip. "Then Cathy Gale appeared and told me to," she  
paused and began to whisper, "'Bimba La Trife.'"  
  
"That means 'be quiet,'" Steed unnecessarily informed Mother.  
  
"Cathy Gale was present? Well that makes all the difference in the world! You are dismissed,  
Steed and Mrs. Parker."   
  
Steed was about to protest, but he changed his mind. The ordeal with the champagne would have  
to wait until later. He walked over to Tara, and was surprised to find that Mrs. Peel was no longer  
there. "Did you frighten off poor Mrs. Peel?"  
  
"She left on her own free will, and I think it had to do with a terrible taste in her mouth." Tara  
smiled beguilingly at Steed and linked her arm with his. "Well, since you are my escort for the  
evening, don't you think it would be appropriate if we danced or something?"  
  
"Not now, Tara," Steed replied distractedly, "I really must find Mrs. Peel and tell her of the most  
extraordinary thing."  
  
"Well, tell me instead, Steed," Tara yanked at his arm, trying to hold him back.  
  
"Really, Tara, you're being very unfair to Mrs. Peel. I'll be able to talk to you tomorrow, while  
Mrs. Peel I might never see again! I won't be long, dear, so don't worry. We'll still have time to  
dance, eat, and drink champagne well we can't do that--" Mr. Steed hurried to find his friend,  
leaving Tara in a miserable state of pouting.  
  
It wasn't difficult to find her, for spotting the effervescent Mrs. Peel was like seeing a beacon of  
light on a stormy night. She was standing by the record player, conversing with the D.J. Sensing  
Steed's presence, she abruptly stopped her conversation and whirled around. "Steed!" she  
exclaimed.  
  
Mr. Steed wondered if it was a figment of his imagination, or if she really sounded delighted to  
see him. "Hello, Mrs. Peel. I thought Tara had frightened you away, but she denied all  
accusations." He grinned good-naturedly and ushered her away from the disc jockey. "I'm often  
surprised at how few people hire real orchestras to perform at their parties any more."  
  
"There has been a steady decline since the beginning of the decade," Mrs. Peel added casually.  
When they were out of earshot of everyone, she asked, "What's the matter, Steed?"  
  
Steed explained the strange ordeal with Mrs. Parker's insensible comments and Mother's angry  
reactions. He concluded with the words, "I have no idea what this is all about, but I'm  
determined to get to the bottom of it. It's really not like Mother to be so mysterious with me, or  
any of the other agents for that matter."  
  
"To me it sounds like Mrs. Parker was saying that you are married." The horrified look in Steed's  
eyes was enough to show Emma Peel that he thought the idea outrageous and impossible. She  
supposed that any man after being a bachelor for forty some years would find this news  
upsetting. Emma smoothly changed the subject by saying, "Speaking of marriage, my husband  
has been behaving in a peculiar manner ever since he came home two years ago."  
  
"Being that I'm unmarried, I don't know how husbands are supposed to behave, so maybe you  
shouldn't tell me about Mr. Peel's little quirks. For all I know, what one wife thinks is strange  
behavior another woman finds perfectly normal."  
  
"You don't call to be away on 'business' nine months out of twelve a common occurrence, do  
you?"  
  
"You must be joking, Mrs. Peel!"  
  
"No, I wish I was. What's worse than that is when he does come home, he stays out all night."  
  
"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but it seems to me that there might be another woman  
involved." Steed cleared his throat and waited for her response.  
  
"Steed, don't look so meek. I can assure you it is not a woman, which, I admit, surprised me, too.  
You see, the three months that my husband was home, I bribed my neighbor, Mrs. Wadsworth, to  
spy on him whenever I went out. Well every time I returned to my flat, I'd get the same story  
from Mrs. Wadsworth: 'Your husband had a mysterious man over again. They talked for a while  
and then left.' And I even hired one of our fellow agents to track my husband down when he was  
gone for those long months. He has never been near another woman, the entire time. He's also  
never been near an airplane."  
  
"But he's a pilot for a living!" Steed exclaimed.  
  
"I am quite aware of that." Emma sighed and continued, "Another peculiarity has come up which  
might interest you. My husband claims his name is William, but I know it was Peter."  
  
"His name wasn't William. He was Peter Peel, the pilot, who was lost on the Amazon, presumed  
dead until he returned recently. Why would he say his name was William unless he had  
amnesia?"  
  
"And I know he doesn't have amnesia, for he remembers everything else perfectly. Furthermore,  
Peter, or whatever you want to call him, doesn't behave like a gentleman at all." Emma thought  
indignantly to herself, It's insulting to think he wears a bowler hat and those sharp suits like  
Steed, considering how he isn't half the gentleman John, er Steed is.  
  
Steed mused, I can't believe a wonderful woman like Emma Peel could be married to an  
atrocious villain like Peter Peel! He said aloud, "I think I'll have a look into this mystery, Mrs.  
Peel, if you don't mind."  
  
"I was hoping you would; that's why I told you." Mrs. Peel smiled provocatively and gazed into  
Steed's hazel eyes.  
  
Suddenly, the lights turned off, and the sound of a gun was heard resounding through the hotel  
room. Screams were emitted from the bravest of women, including Tara King. The men stumbled  
in the darkness, trying to find the intruder. During this chaos, Mr. Steed, Mrs. Peel, and Mrs.  
Gale all managed to find each other and began devising a plan. Unfortunately, before they could  
finish, the lights snapped back on to reveal a man in a black mask standing one foot away from  
them.   
  
He brandished a revolver from his pocket and, grabbing Mrs. Peel around the neck, pointed the  
gun at her head! "Not a move from anyone, or Mrs. Peel dies!" he threatened menacingly.  
Another man, dressed similarly, chuckled evilly and fired his gun at the ceiling just to frighten  
everyone.  
  
Steed eyed the nearest object, a bottle of champagne, and wondered if he could grab it without  
being noticed. Slowly he inched near the bottle, pausing every time one of the men turned to look  
at them. He noticed the two men were pushing Mrs. Peel to the door, laughing wickedly all the  
way. A little closer, he encouraged himself.  
  
Meanwhile Cathy was thinking of her little pistol tucked away in her garter and wished she could  
stoop to get it without being conspicuous. Somehow she didn't think they'd believe her if she  
said her knee had suddenly given way. She licked her lips in anticipation and silently cheered  
when she saw Steed reach for the champagne bottle.  
  
Tara stood in the corner, ruing the fact she had been so frightened that she hadn't even tried to  
find Steed. She hoped Mrs. Peel didn't think this was a deliberate action against her. Tara bit her  
lip, trying to keep from sighing, or worse screaming.  
  
Mrs. Peel was probably the most anxious of them all. She willingly let them push her toward the  
door, feigning a calm air as if being kidnapped was an everyday occurrence. Inside, though, she  
was quaking. She had had many close escapes from death before, but each time she was a little  
more afraid. I've got to kick the gun out of this man's hands, she told herself. It's the only way to  
get me out of this jam, unless Steed and Cathy can do something.   
  
Steed snatched the bottle from the table and pretended to trip. The two men turned around,  
dragging Mrs. Peel with them. Steed straightened up and smiled mischievously. "I thought you  
two could use some champagne before you left." With that, he rolled the bottle down the floor  
until it collided with one of the two men. He was sent sprawling to the floor, and fell  
unconscious.   
  
Unfortunately, it was not the man pointing the gun at Mrs. Peel's head, but Mrs. Peel had  
expected that. When his partner fell to the ground, he turned his head to investigate. Mrs. Peel  
chose this moment to knock the gun out of his hand, and the revolver sailed through the air,  
landing by Steed.  
  
Steed snatched the revolver from the ground before either of the men could make another move.  
He pointed it directly at them both, of course not touching the trigger since Mrs. Peel was still in  
the man's grasp. "Let Mrs. Peel go, immediately," he ordered gruffly. His command was  
willingly obeyed, and Mrs. Peel hurriedly fled to Steed's side.  
  
The man in the mask glanced askance at his unconscious partner and his revolver, which was  
lying nearby. He made a dash for it, but Mrs. Gale had reached the spot first and, stepping on the  
revolver, pointed her own little pistol at his head. She didn't say anything, but the look in her  
eyes was enough for the criminal to shrink back in fear.  
  
"You're outnumbered, Sir," Mrs. Peel announced cheekily to the criminal. The man hesitated for  
a moment and then began wrestling with the unsuspecting Mrs. Gale!  
  
Carefully aiming at the man and not Mrs. Gale, Steed pulled the trigger of the gun in his hands. It  
made a clicking noise, but no bullets shot out. Steed tried again, while Mrs. Peel went to the aid  
of Cathy. The gun produced the same clicking noise, and then nothing.  
  
Emma and Cathy were able to push the man off with the help of several bystanders, but even  
after being defeated two times, the criminal remained in the room. He walked over to Steed and  
proclaimed evenly, "I would like my gun please."  
  
"Well, I'm not quite finished with it." Steed pulled the trigger again, and stared in wonderment  
when nothing happened.   
  
"Let me see that, Steed," Cathy Gale said as she grabbed for the gun.   
  
Impulsively, Steed pulled the trigger, and this time a loud bang rang through the hotel room as a  
bullet ripped through the air. The criminal dodged the bullet, and grabbed the gun from the  
astounded Steed. He dashed out of the hotel room, leaving his reviving partner behind him.   
  
The remaining man in the black mask looked around him groggily, while a morbid Mother dialed  
the police. The man quickly scampered to his feet and looking about him, spotted his gun under  
Cathy's foot. He tripped her, grabbed the gun, and fled. Cathy sat on the floor, stupefied at her  
assailant's quick maneuvers.   
  
Smyth ran after the villains, but returned several minutes later. "I just missed them, and the  
strangest part of it all was, they seemed to disappear into the night."  
  
Steed hung up Mother's phone while he was in mid-sentence. "You won't need the police now,"  
Steed grimly informed his indignant boss. Steed walked over to Cathy and helped her to her feet.  
Then he approached the apologizing Tara.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Steed, that I didn't help you, Mrs. Peel, or Mrs. Gale," she began anxiously. "I was  
petrified, especially when it seemed the two criminals were going to defeat all three of you. I-"  
  
Steed hugged her gently as he reassured her, "It's all right, for, as you see, nothing came of it  
anyway. No one was injured, only shaken, like you."   
  
Emma Peel approached the twosome silently. In fact, she startled them when she remarked, "I  
see that I'm interrupting something. Steed, don't you find it strange that the two men took their  
weapons with them? Though, I suppose that they didn't want to leave any evidence behind  
them."  
  
"Exactly," Steed replied agreeably, "and did you notice how the revolver wouldn't fire until I  
pulled the trigger three times? I believe the gun either had a malfunction, or-"  
  
"It was built that way," Emma finished thoughtfully. They both stood there, contemplation  
written across their brows.   
  
Tara crept away, searching for a person to share a sociable discourse with. She found this  
companion in the indomitable Mrs. Cathy Gale, who conversed with her until the end of the  
party. Mr. Steed and Mrs. Peel spent the rest of the party talking over the perplexing episode.   
  
Neither of them realized that they were neglecting the rest of the guests, and they almost forgot  
about the mystery host until Mother asked Steed, "So, Steed, you've outwitted the two intruders,  
but can you outwit the rest of the guests? Everyone has taken a guess at who the mystery host is  
except you and Mrs. Peel. So who do you think it is?" He chuckled merrily, thinking he had  
stumped them all, but his laughter was short lived.  
  
In their most complacent voices, Steed and Peel replied, "You're the mystery host, naturally."  
  
Mother's face turned very solemn as he announced, "Mr. Steed and Mrs. Peel are correct." He  
gesticulated to his secretary, who was holding two bottles of champagne. With a prominent air he  
presented them with the prizes. "Here you are."  
  
"Thank you, Mother, but I must refuse," Steed interjected politely, but with a twinkle in his eye.  
"Bad vintage, you know." Ignoring Mother's grunts of surprise, he continued, "Now if you'll  
excuse me, I must escort these three ladies home. Mrs. Peel, Tara, Mrs. Gale, shall we go?"  
  
"By all means, Steed," Emma Peel responded in her most dignified tone. Tara and Cathy  
sauntered over to their "escort," and all four of them exited the room.  
  
"Humph," was all Mother said.  



	2. First Day

First Day  
  
Mrs. Peel was cleaning her flat to keep her mind off the incident with the men in black  
from the previous evening. When she thought of what could have happened if Steed (and Mrs.  
Gale) hadn't saved her, she almost gave an undignified shriek of alarm.  
  
"I still have plenty of things to do before I die," Emma murmured to herself as she tried to dust a  
high shelf in her dining room. This was rather difficult, for she had to perch precariously on a  
small stool while elongating her arm toward the small spot. In a short while, her body refused to  
balance and stretch, and she fell to the floor with an unceremonious thud.   
  
"Oomph," Mrs. Peel groaned as she hit the floor. She gazed at the feather duster with distaste.  
"This is the last time I'm using you." She tossed it disgustedly across the floor, where it slid  
under her china cabinet. "Bother it all." Mrs. Peel reached under the cabinet to retrieve the  
detested object. "One comforting thought is that Steed doesn't have to know that I've been forced  
to this degrading state." Her hands brushed something cool, but it wasn't the handle of the duster  
but of a revolver!   
  
Emma pulled it out of its hiding place, staring at it incredulously. She owned a gun, to be sure,  
but she never stowed it under her china cabinet. "I wonder if this is Mr. Peel's, but then why  
would he hide it in this dirty place? Why would he hide it at all from me?" She opened the bullet  
shaft to discover six new bullets gleaming at her.   
  
The weapon seemed vaguely familiar to her, and as she cradled the gun thoughtfully, she tried to  
recall where she had seen it before or a revolver similar to it. Suddenly she remembered the  
peculiar guns at the party, the ones that wouldn't fire until after three attempts. Her eye keenly  
fixed on a downy couch pillow, Emma fired the gun and was not at all surprised when nothing  
happened. Two more tries, and on the fourth, a clear shot resounded through the apartment  
building.   
  
Mrs. Peel pursed her lips together tightly and phoned Steed.  
  
******************************************************************************  
  
"What was so important that I must come over immediately, Mrs. Peel?" Steed asked in his  
usually charming way as soon as he entered her flat. Emma pointed the revolver at him in  
response. Steed jumped back in alarm. "Why Mrs. Peel, what has come over you?"  
  
"I've found something that may be a clue to the mystery."  
  
"The one that involves your husband, or the one that involves those nasty intruders from last  
night?"  
  
"Both, if you can believe it." Mrs. Peel handed him some rubber gloves and after he obligingly  
put them on, handed him the gun. She then walked over to a nearby table where a bottle of  
champagne was sitting. She picked it up and ordered, "Shoot at the cork on this bottle."   
  
Mr. Steed raised his eyebrows.   
  
"It's the right vintage if that's what you're worried about," she reassured him.  
  
"I was more puzzled at why I must wear these ridiculous gloves and shoot at a cork, but if you  
insist . . ." Steed pulled the trigger and repeated the whole procedure that Mrs. Peel had just gone  
through several minutes earlier and what he had gone through the previous evening. "Incredible,"  
was all he could manage to say after he was through. "Your husband owns a gun like those of the  
kidnappers?"  
  
"Certainly not! Though I suppose it *could* belong to my husband, but that would mean there  
are more than two guns in the world that only shoot after three tries. What I'm thinking is that  
one of the kidnappers from the party hid this weapon in my flat when I wasn't around, like late  
last night or early this morning! That way he could sneak into my flat one of the nights my  
husband wasn't home and kill me." Mrs. Peel poured some champagne for both of them from the  
newly opened bottle.   
  
"Was your husband home last night?" Steed asked suspiciously.  
  
"Well- yes," Mrs. Peel stammered, wondering what Steed was trying to imply.   
  
"Did you leave your flat ever after you got home from the party last night?"  
  
"No, I did not."  
  
"Then when could the criminal have sneaked in and planted this gun somewhere in your house? I  
know you, and you have excellent hearing. Are you saying that you wouldn't have heard  
someone breaking into your house and creeping around? And what about your husband; he  
would have probably heard the man, too."  
  
"I suppose you're right," Mrs. Peel mumbled in an un-Mrs.-Peelish way, "but then how did the  
revolver get in here?"  
  
"As I mentioned before, the gun must belong to your husband," Mrs. Peel was about to protest,  
but Steed continued, "but this man, William-er Peter- isn't really your husband."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Well, you said this chap doesn't act at all like your husband, and that he claims his name is  
William when we know it was Peter. He was in the newspaper, for Pete's sake- pardon the pun.  
Therefore, the gun belongs to the man who's pretending to be your husband, and he is probably  
one of the kidnappers from last night.   
  
"It all makes sense. You come home from the party, and your 'husband' is waiting for you. He  
obviously has hidden the revolver while you were away, and now he is just sitting there, looking  
as innocent as can be. He wants to harm you, no mistaking that, and now he's got the weapon  
hidden in your own flat. He's a sly one."  
  
"You have had some outrageous ideas in your time, Steed, but this is ridiculous. I suggest we  
speak to Mother about it at once. He'll have a sensible explanation for this."  
  
Clutching the weapon tightly, Steed nodded in agreement, and he and Mrs. Peel hurried over to  
the agency headquarters.  
  
  
******************************************************************************  
  
"I simply can't believe it; this is outrageous!" Mother shouted, completely infuriated. "I honestly  
can't think of anything more incredible! Mrs. Peel's husband wants to kidnap her?"  
  
"I would be most obliged if everyone stopped jumping to that conclusion," Mrs. Peel answered,  
eying Steed as she said so. "It was planted in my flat last night."  
  
"By her husband," Mr. Steed added.  
  
"You know, I believe you're jealous that you're not Mr. Peel," Emma remarked coyly. It worked  
like a charm; Steed did not mention her husband again.  
  
"We haven't handled it with our bare hands, so we should be able to get some fingerprints from  
it and therefore figure out if this gun belongs to Mr. Peel or not." Steed placed the revolver on the  
desk in front of Mother.  
  
"You can't do that!" Mother cried nervously. "This gun belongs to Mr. Peel whether you want to  
admit it or not!"   
  
"You cannot say that." Emma protested. Steed realized he had only seen Mrs. Peel this angry  
once before, when she had yelled at him for not warning her ahead a time that a man was about  
to be killed. "Besides, like Steed's suggested, perhaps this man isn't really my husband at all."  
Mother made a sound of shock and went silent. Steed and Peel looked at each other in  
befuddlement.  
  
Mother puffed his cigar nervously before breaking the qualm, "Why don't you just leave the gun  
with me or Mr. Smyth, and if you're really bent on getting fingerprints, we'll do that for you."  
  
"You don't have to go through all that trouble. We'll be more than willing to get the information  
ourselves." Steed picked up the gun, and headed to the door, Mrs. Peel close behind him.   
  
"Wait just a moment, you two. I insist you hand the gun over to me, for I don't want you figuring  
out anything." Mother paused a minute, and added, "I mean I don't want you to exert  
yourselves?"  
  
Steed and Peel exchanged a simultaneous questioning glance before Steed demanded harshly,  
"Mother, what is going on? Yesterday when Mrs. Parker said all those strange things, you were  
more than annoyed . . ."  
  
"And today you command us not to go about our job, namely investigating," Mrs. Peel finished.  
"Would you care to explain this to us?"  
  
"No, I do not, and hand the gun over to me." Mother began wheeling over to them.  
  
"This time I must disobey your orders, Mother. Good day to you." Steed opened the door and  
came face to face with Mr. Smyth. "Really, a spy of your stature should know better than to  
eavesdrop in the most obvious places."  
  
Mr. Smyth stared coldly at him before brushing past into the room. Mrs. Peel exited with Steed,  
and they drove back to her apartment  
  
Meanwhile, Tara went to visit Steed at his flat and was surprised to find him not there. A  
note posted on the wall informed her of his whereabouts, and Tara cringed at the thought of  
Steed visiting with Mrs. Peel. Not wanting to be left out, she set out for Mrs. Peel's place.   
  
When she arrived at the apartment, Mr. Steed and Mrs. Peel were immersed in a serious  
conversation. They didn't notice her arrival until she cleared her throat several times. "What is so  
interesting that you didn't hear me?" she asked once she had their attention.  
  
Steed filled her in on the details, including the strange affair with Mother. When he finished he  
added, "We were just about to get these finger prints examined."  
  
"A wonderful idea; I'll go with you!" Tara cried enthusiastically.  
  
"No, you'd better stay here," Mrs. Peel replied. "We don't want to get you involved in this little  
ordeal."   
  
Tara was about to protest, but Steed agreed, "Yes, that's the best plan. Maybe you could visit  
Mrs. Parker and see what she meant by her cryptic message, 'but you already . . .'"  
  
"This is a fine way to treat me, Steed. I go to your flat, you're not there. Then when I find you at  
Mrs. Peel's place, you're going out again!"  
  
"Don't worry, Tara; I'm not going to disappear for long. I hope not, anyway." Steed gingerly  
lifted the gun, and ushered Emma out the door.  
  
"Thank you for understanding," Tara muttered sarcastically as soon as the door shut. "If you  
think I'm going to get involved in your other mystery when you refuse to let me help in this one,  
you have another thing coming to you, John Steed," she told the wall. She wandered over to Mrs.  
Peel's little bar and poured herself a glass of champagne. When she finished, she argued with  
herself for ten minutes whether she should visit Mrs. Diana Parker or not.   
  
In the end, she made up her mind to go, but Tara's feet refused to move from their position on  
the floor. She could not, *would* not talk to that simple minded Mrs. Parker while Steed  
escorted Mrs. Peel around the town, even if it was only to examine some finger prints back at the  
ministry!  
  
"If Mrs. Peel found the gun in her flat, then perhaps some other clues are hidden in these  
quarters," Tara reasoned with herself. She sauntered over to the china cabinet and uncovered the  
forgotten feather duster from under the piece of furniture. Subconsciously, she began to dust  
every object she inspected.  
  
After forty-five minutes of examining every article, she wandered into the bedroom where two  
neat twin size beds stood against the left wall. A bedside table separated them both, and an  
antique lamp was perched on top. Tara carelessly dusted the lamp, eyeing every item in the room  
as if they might be a clue. The lamp rocked precariously back and forth, but Tara was quite  
oblivious to this. Suddenly it completely lost its balance and was about to totter to the floor,  
when Tara snapped out of her reverie and caught it in time.  
  
She surveyed the priceless antique with genuine curiosity. There was something strange about the  
whole lamp, and it became even queerer when she unscrewed the top to reveal a hollow body.  
Tara peered into the cast iron body and spotted a lone letter tucked tightly into the base. After  
several attempts of trying to pry the note out, she succeeded and spread it out on the bedside table  
to read. It was a simple stated letter that made her blood run cold.   
  
Aug. 9th, 1967  
  
Dear William,   
  
I did it yesterday. I killed that lousy actor Richard Thoms before he could bat an eye. Now you  
hold out your end of the bargain and play Emma's husband. Oh, and don't forget to not only act  
like him, but to write like him. Learn his handwriting, forge a couple of letters to get the feel of  
it. Emma's got some notes stashed away in her bureau drawer in her little flat.   
  
Now remember to not fall for this dame, cause we've got to kidnap her later, and I don't need you  
turning soft all of a sudden. Get out of the house a lot, especially since Emma ain't no dummy  
and will probably start getting suspicious if you're around too much.  
  
Ed  
  
P.S. Destroy this letter as soon as possible, or hide in a good place. And it had better be a very  
dang good place, or you'll be as dead as Richard Thoms.  
  
Tara shakily put the lamp back in its place and wandered to the living room. Someone had  
murdered the great American actor, Richard Thoms, and now his associate was pretending to be  
Mr. Peel! Not only that, but they had tried to kidnap Mrs. Peel last night at the party! Mrs. Peel  
was in grave danger, and now so was Steed. "Ooh, Steed, please be careful!" Tara pleaded as she  
crushed the letter against her chest.   
  
As if to answer her entreaty, Steed and Peel entered the room. "Tara," Steed exclaimed in  
surprise, "I thought you would be discussing the weather with Mrs. Parker by now."  
  
"No, I didn't have any desire to be bored to death," Tara returned wryly. She began to tell Mrs.  
Peel and Steed about her discovery, but Steed interrupted her.  
  
"We looked at thousands of finger prints, but we couldn't find Mr. Peel's anywhere in the files.  
Strange, isn't it?" Steed set his bowler hat and umbrella down on a table. "I don't know what  
we're going to do now."  
  
"While you were trying to find the owner of the fingerprints I found this letter hidden in your  
antique lamp, Mrs. Peel," Tara interrupted urgently. Here read it."  
  
Emma and John immediately complied her ardent command, and soon they're whole faces were  
lit up with a light of understanding. "So there is a man pretending to be my husband, and he is  
the one who tried kidnaped me last night!" Mrs. Peel cried incredulously. "Steed, you were  
right!"  
  
"Of course I was right; all the clues fit perfectly. Your fake husband turned out to be a chap  
named William who owns a strange gun, and who, for some odd reason, wants to kidnap  
you."  
  
"Don't forget that his accomplice Ed murdered the famous movie star Richard Thoms," Tara  
reminded him.  
  
"You know I met Richard Thoms once," Emma commented. "I even had a picture taken with  
him, but it got destroyed in a fire with all my other photos."  
  
"All your pictures were destroyed?" Steed asked.  
  
"Even the ones of my husband," Mrs. Peel replied. "I don't know how it happened, for that  
memory is rather hazy. All I remember is someone telling me about it after the great fire."  
  
"What great fire?" Tara asked.  
  
"I don't recollect that part either, though I do believe it occurred right before I started working  
with you, Steed. Anyway I have one small, insignificant photo left." Mrs. Peel opened a locket  
that was around her neck and pointed to a photo of a man putting a bowler hat on his head. In  
fact, the picture had been taken right as he had lifted the hat across his face. Because of this, his  
face, except for a bit of his nose and smile, were obscured.   
  
"It was taken in Italy when we were on our honeymoon." Emma explained, fondly reminiscing  
about the good old years. "My husband was constantly wearing his hat everywhere, even in all  
our pictures. My husband had lovely thick hair, so I didn't see why he wanted to hide it all the  
time. At one point of our vacation, he took his hat off, so I wanted to get a picture with him  
without his ridiculous hat on. As luck would have it, just at the moment when I took the photo,  
he put the hat back on, again."  
  
"I like your husband, Mrs. Peel," Steed remarked, chuckling at the humorous tale. "By the way,  
when were you in Italy?"  
  
"It was 1962* if your interested, but why do you ask?"  
  
"I was there that same year on some business. I wonder if I passed you on the street?"  
  
"I highly doubt it. My husband and I walked only the best boulevards, and if I know you, you  
were on a spy mission in one of the dirtiest parts of towns. Still, that would have been quite  
ironic."  
  
"Oh how did we get so off track?" Steed asked vexatiously.   
  
"We were talking about Richard Thoms," Mrs. Peel informed him, "and that bought up my  
memory of meeting him, and that-  
  
"Ah! Yes, thank you! You know, I remember Richard Thoms," Steed said slowly. "He came to  
England to film a new movie, but quit the production the second day. Then a week later, he was  
murdered. Nobody knows who did it, or what was the motivation, even though it happened  
almost two years ago."   
  
"We know who did it, though," Tara reminded him gently. "It was Ed, but what induced him to  
do such a terrible thing in the first place?"  
  
"I believe we need to check into this little mystery of Richard Thoms," Emma declared, her mind  
busily at work.   
  
"That's an excellent idea," Steed complemented her. "I'll phone my friend, Harold Witherspoon.  
He's a detective who works on tough cases, and he should have all the suspects  
for the Richard Thoms Case. It's a far stretch, but maybe our Ed is listed as one of the suspects."  
  
"I've been wondering," Emma began, "if William is posing as Mr. Peel, where is my true  
husband?" Tara made no response, for she was at a lost for words. It was a puzzlement, and Tara  
really did not want to jump to any conclusions.  
  
Fortunately she didn't have to, because Steed did. "Maybe he's dead."  
  
"I hope not," Tara and Emma replied at the same time for different reasons.  
  
Steed looked at them strangely and began dialing his friend's number. After a quick chat with  
Harold Witherspoon, he hung up and smiled triumphantly. "Harold has all the information we  
could need, including pictures. He's really anxious to find out what I've learned, so I'll leave  
right now to pick up the data." Steed grabbed his bowler hat and brolly and addressed Mrs. Peel,  
"This should please you, Harold also thinks he has some information on your little friend,  
William. Well, I'm off."  
  
Tara hurried over to Steed. "What should I-er-we do while you're gone?"   
  
Steed appeared to have no answer, so Mrs. Peel supplied them both with one. "I've been thinking  
. . . Mother didn't want us working on this mystery. Perhaps he knows the whereabouts of my  
husband? I figure Mr. Peel is either really lost in the Amazon, or he is being held captive  
somewhere."  
  
"What are you getting at, Mrs. Peel?" Tara asked curiously.  
  
"Mother has detailed information of each detective that's ever worked for the agency. These files  
also list information about your spouses etcetera. If one of us could get my file somehow, then  
we would really know what has become of my husband."  
  
"And what if it just says 'lost in the Amazon, assumed dead'?" Steed inquired.  
  
"Then I'll really believe it, and won't ask further questions."  
  
"Since it was your idea, you can have the honours of performing the task," Tara smiled  
innocently.   
  
Mrs. Peel stared at her in amusement. "Are you sure you just don't want to be caught? After all,  
aren't the files kept in an off limit zone?  
  
"Yes, they are," Tara snapped peevishly. She calmed down a bit and continued, "They used to be  
opened to all agents, but after several spies were caught using the information against other spies,  
the files were locked away. Now only Mother and agents who get permission from him can see  
the dossiers."   
  
"Well, I'm sure Mother will let me see the data about Mr. Peel. He is my husband, and I am  
entitled to know what has become of him." Mrs. Peel sauntered over to the doorway where Steed  
was standing, and teasingly asked, "Are you sure you don't want to do it, Tara?"  
  
"You'd better decide soon," Steed added. "I want to know which lady I'm dropping off at agency  
headquarters." He smiled at the women, thinking that it would be a pleasure to be with either of  
them.  
  
Tara looked at the twosome and immediately changed her mind. "Don't trouble yourself, Mrs.  
Peel; I'd be more than willing to investigate for you."  
  
Mrs. Peel laughed silently to herself. Tara was certainly an easy person to read. It was quite  
obvious she loved Steed, and it was also apparent that she was oblivious to the fact that everyone  
knew her feelings for him. Mrs. Peel wondered if Steed had such feelings for Tara, or if he was  
as much a cad as ever. The idea that Steed was in love annoyed Emma, and she didn't know why.  
As Steed and Tara left, Emma wished that she hadn't badgered Tara into taking her place.  
  
******************************************************************************  
  
Steed drove up to the agency headquarters in his old automobile. Smiling gregariously he said,  
"Here you are, Tara. I certainly hope Mother gives you permission to see those files. I wouldn't  
want you waiting for me for a quarter of an hour with nothing to do because Mother refused to let  
you into the personnel files room."   
  
Tara daintily stepped out, shutting the car door behind her with an equally as graceful move.  
"Mother is sure to be agreeable, Steed, so don't worry about me."  
  
"When have I ever been known to worry?" Steed asked haphazardly. He grinned impishly and  
drove off.  
  
Mother was more than surprised to see Tara standing in his office. He was even more  
flabbergasted to learn that she wanted to see Mrs. Peel's dossiers. "Didn't you just look at those  
files last month?"  
  
Trying to remember, Tara shrugged and frowned. "I don't believe so," she finally concluded.  
  
"All right, I'll send Smyth to go fetch them for you; Oh Smyth!" Mother called for several  
seconds until Mr. Smyth appeared in the door. "Ah, Smyth, Miss King wants to see Mrs. Peel's  
files. You know, Mrs. Peel's files."  
  
Smyth froze in place. "But no one is supposed to-well . . ."  
  
"Smyth, you misunderstood my orders." Mother impatiently drummed his fingernails on his  
desk. "Send me the portfolio with the material about Mrs. Emma Peel and her husband Peter  
Peel."  
  
  
A light of comprehension filled Mr. Smyth's eyes, and he quickly exited the room. Tara stared  
confusedly at Mother, wondering why he and Smyth were acting so strangely. "You shouldn't  
have troubled Smyth, for you know I would have looked for the document myself." Tara eyed  
Mother suspiciously as she spoke, but Mother didn't look at all fazed at this comment. His  
uneasiness seemed to have passed.  
  
"Smyth knows the layout of the files much better than you, Tara. He'll find the needed dossier in  
half the time it would probably take you."  
  
As if answering Mother's comment, Smyth reentered the room, carrying a skinny folder. "Here  
you go, Tara." Smyth handed her the portfolio, but would not let go.   
  
"Please, Mr. Smyth." Tara yanked at the folder until Mr. Smyth let go. She opened it anxiously  
and scanned all the data in record time. After she finished inspecting the file, she scratched her  
head in puzzlement. Under the information for Mr. Peel it stated, "Was lost in the Amazon, but  
returned home unexpectedly two years ago."  
  
Mother must not know that there is an imposter being Mr. Peel, Tara thought. I had better tell  
him.  
  
"Mother, there's something you need to know about Mr. Peel."  
  
Mother and Smyth exchanged nervous glances. "What's that, Tara?" Mother asked, trying to  
keep the apprehension out of his voice.  
  
"There is a criminal pretending to be Mr. Peel, and his name is William Avery. There wasn't any  
way you could have known this fact, since Steed and I just discovered it today. But now that you  
are aware about this dreadful thing, I think it's best that you update this data."  
  
"Who told you there was an imposter running around?" Mother asked angrily.  
  
"Nobody did; I was searching for clues at Mrs. Peel's flat, and I stumbled upon a letter." Tara  
was a bit taken aback by his cruel tones.  
  
"You shouldn't trust everything you read," Mother replied, indicating that she was a rather silly  
girl to believe such a note.  
  
"But Steed phoned his friend Harold Witherspoon, who had information about a man named  
William and his accomplice, Ed, the same man who killed Richard Thoms. You remember that  
case don't you?"  
  
Mother seemed very alert at her last piece of dialogue. "Do you mean to say that Steed is getting  
valuable data about the Richard Thoms Case?"  
  
"Yes; aren't you pleased?" Tara beamed proudly, but her smile was not returned.   
  
Mother motioned to Smyth, who immediately left the room, gun in tow. "Tara, I want you to go  
visit Mrs. Peel and give her the dossiers." Mother smiled grimly and added, "I'm sure she'll be  
relieved to know that there is no man pretending to be her husband."  
  
"But there is, and we have proof!"  
  
"Goodbye, Tara." Mother pushed her out the door and locked it.  
  
Tara stood in the hallway, more puzzled than she'd ever been. Mother knew something that they  
(Steed, Mrs. Peel, and herself) didn't, and the answer was lying in the off limits room. Tara  
headed in the direction of that room  
  
******************************************************************************  
  
"Here we are, Steed," Witherspoon exclaimed as he handed his friend a thick portfolio filled with  
glossies and all the information Steed could want on the Richard Thoms Case.  
  
"Ah! This will keep me busy for awhile." Steed gazed admiringly at the compilation in his hands.  
  
"It took us a whole year to gather all this material together. I hope you'll appreciate the trouble  
we went through." Harold sighed forlornly as if remembering the painstaking task he had carried  
out.  
  
"I'll cherish every word," Steed replied almost in earnest. He set the heavy portfolio down on the  
desk next to a fake statuette of Venus. He immediately began toying with the replica.  
  
"Our sector of detectives takes deep pride in our work." Witherspoon proclaimed. "You won't  
see us messing around on our jobs. We our a respectable lot of detectives, who've only failed to  
solve five cases in the hundred years we've been around."  
  
"It's that so?" Steed asked, not paying thorough attention to his friends rants. Making himself  
comfortable, he perched himself on the desk.  
  
"Of course, the Richard Thoms case is one of those five, but you have a lead. Yes, I say our  
establishment is as solid and steady as ever."  
  
"A beautiful creation of art," Steed remarked suddenly, referring to the statuette. "I admire the  
man who first thought of her."  
  
Witherspoon, believing Steed was alluding to his detective firm, beamed in approval. "That's  
exactly what I thought when I first joined."  
  
Steed realized they were talking about two entirely different things, so he only smiled in return.  
He set the statuette back in its place.  
  
"So what is this clue that you've discovered, Steed? I'm really quite anxious to know." Harold  
Witherspoon sat back in his leather desk chair, listening intently to whatever Steed had to say.  
  
"I've found a letter that tells us exactly who the murderer is. Ironically, I don't know much about  
him, except his name is Ed. You're supposed to supply me with the rest of the information."  
  
Witherspoon put his feet up on his desk before replying. "There was an Edmund Bacarat and an  
Edward Skisserd on the suspect lists. You'll find them both in the folder. One of them-I don't  
remember which- had an accomplice he always worked with, a fellow by the name of-"  
  
"William," Steed interrupted.  
  
Witherspoon slid his feet off the desk in surprise. "Yes, William Avery; he's been involved in  
three armed robberies and one murder. But how did you know what his name was?"   
  
"My good friend Mrs. Peel is acquainted with the felon. He tried to kidnap her. I was talking  
about him earlier to you on the phone; remember? You said you might have some information  
about him along with the Richard Thoms case."  
  
"Ah, yes, of course." Harold mused for several moments before saying, "Peel; that name sounds  
familiar. That's right! The last job Richard Thoms was going to do before he was murdered was  
to play the part of a Mr. Peter Peel."   
  
Steed nearly fell off the desk in astonishment. "Are you quite positive, Witherspoon?"  
  
"Yes, I am. The strangest thing; he was hired by an agency of some sort to play this woman's  
husband. They offered oodles of money I imagine, for there's no other reason he would take such  
a role when he was all set to film a movie. Anyway, Richard Thoms accepted the part, and  
several days later he was killed. Is this friend of yours, Mrs. Peel, related to the man Thoms was  
supposed to play?"  
  
"I don't think so," Steed lied. "Do you have a picture of this man, Witherspoon?"  
  
"We carry pictures of all the victims." Mr. Witherspoon went over to a file cabinet. "Do you  
want one with him dead or alive?"  
  
"Preferably alive, if you don't mind." Steed stood up and began pacing back and forth, in deep  
contemplation.   
  
"Here's a photo with him alive, but he has a woman with him." Witherspoon handed the  
photograph to Steed, wondering what was going on.   
  
Briefly scanning the picture was all Steed needed to do to confirm his suspicions. The  
photograph showed a man in a suit with a mustache, looking very much like Peter Peel.* Smiling  
happily next him was none other than the charming Mrs. Emma Peel. "One of the pictures she  
lost in the fire, no doubt," Steed murmured to himself.  
  
Steed went over to the portfolio of all the suspects and flipped through it until he found a picture  
of William Avery. He had very similar features like that of Richard Thoms, except he had no  
facial hair. "Do you have a black marker, Witherspoon?" Steed asked. Witherspoon rummaged  
through a drawer and retrieved the item that Steed wanted. Steed snatched it away and began  
scribbling a black mustache under Avery's nose.  
  
"I say, Steed, what are you doing?" Harold cried.   
  
Steed held up his piece of art next to the picture of Thoms. "There, see how similar in appearance  
these two men are?" Witherspoon nodded in agreement. "Thoms was killed; do you think this  
man could take his place and get away with it?"  
  
"Yes, it's very probable."  
  
Portfolio under one arm, Steed managed to grab his bowler and umbrella. "Thank you for the  
information, Witherspoon, but I have no time to chat. I must tell Mrs. Peel of this discovery."  
With that, Steed marched out the door.  
  
"I thought you said that Mrs. Peel wasn't related to Mr. Peter Peel!" Witherspoon called after  
him. "Hmm, that's what comes of not being a detective." If only Witherspoon knew the truth!  
  
  
*Note: I don't know for sure if this is the year when Mrs. Peel was married.  
  
**Note: I have no idea if Peter Peel had a mustache. It just sounded good in my story.  
  
Disclaimer: I was in a bit of a hurry to get this chapter out that some parts might be confusing. I  
apologize.  
  
  
  



	3. First Afternoon

Mrs. Peel was painting a still life of a bottle of champagne in a large silver bucket when Steed  
arrived. She smiled broadly when Steed entered the room in his usual way, by pressing a little  
button hidden by her front door. Mrs. Peel wiped her paint brush on a white rag and inquired,  
"What interesting news did you discover?" She stepped back from her work in progress so Steed  
could inspect it.  
  
Mr. Steed made no comment about the picture, but instead replied, "I found out many things that  
will most likely shock you."  
  
Emma chuckled quietly and said, "Well go ahead and shock me."  
  
Steed pulled out the photograph of William Avery. "Do you recognize this man?"  
  
Emma Peel examined it closely before answering, "Yes, he looks like William, the man who's  
pretending to be my husband, except William does not have such a funny looking mustache. He  
has a rather distinguished mustache that curls at the ends."  
  
"I drew the mustache on him myself."  
  
"So it is William?"  
  
"You were right; it is William, William Avery to be exact." Steed produced the photo of Richard  
Thoms. "Do you recognize this man?"  
  
Emma stared at it, befuddled, then she asked, "This picture was destroyed in the fire. Where did  
you find this replica?"  
  
"Witherspoon had a copy of it. Who is this man, Emma-er Mrs. Peel." Steed scratched his head  
in wonderment at his slip. "Why did I call her that?" he muttered to himself.  
  
If Mrs. Peel noticed his slip, she made no mention of it. "This is a photograph of Richard Thoms  
and me. It was taken at a society party; it's the only time I ever saw Mr. Thoms."  
  
"Well, how unfortunate for you and Mother."  
  
Mrs. Peel gazed at him questioningly. "What does Mother have to do with this?"  
  
"Here comes the shocker: Mother hired Richard Thoms to play your husband. Thoms never had  
the pleasure of doing so, for he was killed a week later and replaced by Avery."  
  
"Why would Mother find a man to be my husband?" Mrs. Peel turned sharply away. "That's  
ridiculous and I don't believe it."  
  
Steed grabbed her arm harshly, forcing her to turn around. Mrs. Peel stared at him in  
astonishment. "Listen, I'm telling you the truth! Do you think I'd make up something like that for  
fun? Avery and his accomplice Ed must have really wanted to get near you if they risked  
everything to murder a movie star. They want to kidnap you and possibly kill you."  
  
"Don't worry I can handle them," Emma replied cooly as she slipped out of Steed's firm grasp.  
  
"I can't help but worry," Steed pronounced. Pleased at his comment, Emma smiled and turned a  
blushing face away from him. It had been quite a complimentary and romantic thing to say, and  
they both realised it. It also was quite ironic that just a few hours earlier Steed had claimed to  
Tara that he never worried.  
  
Steed cleared his throat sheepishly and said, "Well, we had better have a look at the suspect files.  
He opened the folder on a table, and he and Mrs. Peel began scanning it for any "Ed's."  
  
After Steed had turned what seemed to be the millionth page, Emma cried out, "There he is," and  
pointed at the picture of a brawny man. "'Edmund Bacarat,'" Mrs. Peel read, "born in the year  
1935 in Manchester, England. Best known crimes are his jewel robberies and the murder of his  
brother.'"  
  
"Friendly sort, isn't he?" Steed asked dryly.  
  
Emma continued reading, "'Worked with several partners, including Franklin Keith and William  
Avery. Was spotted with William Avery near the scene of the Richard Thoms' murder.'" Emma  
stopped reading and sighed dismally. "Well, he appears to be our murderer. What do we do now?  
We have no information about his whereabouts, or when he is going to strike next."  
  
"It will be soon, I can tell you that." Mr. Steed closed the folder emphatically. "Avery left his gun  
in your flat, so he obviously hopes to use the weapon in the near future."  
  
"I'll be prepared," Emma proclaimed as she gingerly touched the revolver which was lying on the  
table. She then executed a few karate moves and smiled in satisfaction.  
  
Steed returned the smile and then looked at his watch in dismay. "It's half past three already? I  
should have picked up Tara an hour ago." Steed raced to the door, and as he placed a hand on the  
knob he added, "Are you doing anything this evening?" Mrs. Peel shook her head. "Yes you are;  
you're having dinner with me at the little French Cafe in town. The champagne is superb there!"  
Steed exited the room, whistling softly to himself.  
  
Mrs. Peel didn't respond, but her smile grew larger at his comment. She performed several more  
karate moves, but she stopped short just as she was about to thrash the air with her arm. "I'd  
better find something suitable to wear." She hurried into the bedroom, ready to tackle the great  
task of choosing the perfect outfit. She must look her best for Steed!  
  
Meanwhile, Tara hadn't missed Steed at all, for she had been busily searching for the off limits  
room. Finally she found the room, but of course, it was locked. Tara sighed as she retrieved a nail  
file from her purse to pick the lock. After a few futile attempts, Tara succeeded in breaking into  
the room.   
  
As she entered into the room, an overwhelming sight met her eyes. A hundred or more file  
cabinets aligned the wall and stood in the centre of the room. Tara eased the door shut and stood  
still, utterly astounded. She immediately perked up and walked over to the first cabinet. They  
were alphabetized, so she easily found the p's. Tara's theory was that Smyth had left out some  
important information in the file cabinet, information about Mrs. Peel's husband.  
  
Tara quickly searched through the files, wishing she had an electric torch so she could see better  
in the dark room. Finally she reached the spot for Mrs. Peel's folder, and she was surprised to  
find written on the front, "See other name."  
  
Thinking they were referring to Emma's maiden name, Tara shut the cabinet and went to the k  
files. Strangely, there was no folder under the name of Emma Knight.   
  
Tara glanced at the portfolio of Mrs. Peel in her hand. "If it said, 'see other name' in the spot  
where her folder was, there must be another place for Mrs. Peel's folder to go. Yet, there is no  
Emma Knight file, so where did Smyth get this folder?"  
  
Desperately, Tara began looking at every file in the k cabinet. Soon she found her own name,  
followed by Dr. Martin King and Dr. David Keel. Suddenly, Tara noticed something strange with  
the portfolio of Mrs. Peel. First of all, it wasn't nearly as thick as all the other folders, and this  
was most odd, especially for Dr. King. He had work on only several cases, yet his portfolio was  
crammed with information about him. Curious to see what sort of information could fill a folder,  
Tara took it out of its place in the cabinet and examined it closely.   
  
Inside were all the minute details of his life, starting from his birth and ending when he stopped  
being a spy. The data was all typed out in neat print and in full sentences. Mrs. Peel's folder was  
hand written, the sentences were incomplete, and the information was very broad and general.   
  
Tara began pulling out each folder and carefully scrutinizing them all. Every single one of them  
was in the same formula as Dr. King. Mrs. Peel's portfolio was undoubtedly a fake.   
  
"That explains why Smyth was sent to fetch it and not me!" Tara exclaimed in revelation. "He  
was given a signal by Mother to get the phony folder for me, so I wouldn't go to the personnel  
files room and get the real one. They must be hiding something about Mrs. Peel in her real folder,  
something about her husband, no doubt." Tara placed all the folders she had recklessly pulled out  
back in their proper order in the cabinet. "But what would they have to hide about her husband,  
and if the folder I have is fake, where is the real one? I looked under her name." Tara returned to  
the p cabinet and looked at the space for Mrs. Peel's file, again. "What does 'See other name'  
mean?" Tara asked herself.  
  
"It means 'mind your own business,'" a gruff voice returned.  
  
Tara whirled around and discovered Mother staring at her, utterly enraged. "Oh, Mother, I didn't  
hear you," Tara cried in a pursuit to get out of trouble.  
  
"That's rather obvious. Now may I ask what you are doing in here? You have Mrs. Peel's file  
already-"  
  
"Mrs. Peel's portfolio is a fake!" Tara interrupted accusingly. "Mother, what is going on? Why  
did Smyth give me a fake folder? Does it have to do with Mr. Peel, by any chance?"  
  
"Why do you want to know?"  
  
"Well, I'm a spy, and I live for the truth. Mrs. Peel may not be my favourite person on this  
planet, but she is entitled to know the true facts. And I intend to give her just that, if I can. If her  
husband is dead, why not just tell her?"  
  
"Her husband is not dead. He just . . . hasn't returned home to Mrs. Peel, yet."  
  
"So you did know that there was a criminal impersonating Mr. Peel, yet you didn't do anything  
about it."  
  
"Yes, we did know, and really couldn't do anything. If we told Mrs. Peel that her husband was a  
fake she would get disheartened."  
  
"So you endangered her life instead?"  
  
Mother didn't respond for a long duration, but finally he remarked, "Tara, you are under a lot of  
stress over this situation. We have this splendid machine that will help you forget all about this  
circumstance. If you'll just come with me, you'll soon be your cheery self again."  
  
Tara back away from Mother, but he wheeled closer. A machine that made her forget? It sounded  
like it was a hypnosis device that brainwashed you! Tara clutched her purse with the trusty brick  
inside and advanced toward Mother. "I'll right, Mother; I'll come," she lied.  
  
Unfortunately, Mother knew that there was a brick in her purse, a brick designed for conking  
unsuspecting people on the head. And Mother was not an unsuspecting person by any means.  
"Hand me your purse, Tara," Mother commanded in an almost mesmerizing tone.  
  
Tara panicked for a brief second, and then pushed Mother's wheelchair backwards. It quickly  
rolled across the floor and crashed into some file cabinets. Tara took this opportune moment to  
dash out the door. She flew through the corridors, not stopping until she was outdoors.   
  
Tara looked at the street and noting that Steed was not there in his automobile, scurried down the  
sidewalk at a frightening speed. I can't wait for Steed to show up, not when Mother is after me,  
Tara thought as she fled from the agency headquarters.  
  
A car drove past the fleeing Tara, Steed's car to be exact. He pulled up to the headquarters, quite  
surprised to see no sign of Tara. Steed thought nothing of it and merely entered the building in  
search of his sleuthing partner and friend.  
  
Having no idea where Tara was, Mr. Steed headed for Mother's office. Mother would surely  
know where Tara was keeping herself. Steed playfully knocked on the door with his brolly before  
entering. It appeared to be a good thing, for Mother quickly scrambled to hide some papers from  
Steed's sight.   
  
"Steed, what a surprise to see you!" Mother shouted in an almost nervous state. "Make yourself  
at home." He gestured to a leather easy chair and then quickly went back to his job of hiding  
papers. He carelessly stuffed them into the folder they had come from. Mother covered the  
folder's name with his hands and asked, "What can I do for you, Steed?"  
  
Carefully surveying the obscured folder's name, Steed could only make out the beginning of the  
title. The part he could read said, "Mrs. Emma . . ." Steed instinctively concluded that it was Mrs.  
Peel's file, for after all, Tara had requested to see it. It was only natural for Mother to have it out  
still, but why would Mother want to hide the folder from him? Then Steed remembered an  
important fact: Mother had hired Richard Thoms to play Mr. Peel, and they weren't supposed to  
know.  
  
"Steed, did you hear me?" Mother inquired.   
  
Steed ignored this question and asked, "Do you know where Tara is?"  
  
"She left awhile ago," Mother replied too calmly.  
  
"But I promised to pick her up," Steed cried, not buying the answer for a second. However, he  
pretended not to see through Mother's shallow lie and added, "Oh, well, it goes to show you  
can't trust women; fickle as always." Steed gave his truest smile to the undaunted Mother.  
  
"Yes, I suppose you're right. Well, good day to you Steed." Mother pretended to sort the papers  
in the folder.  
  
Steed got up as if to go, but stopped at the doorway and turned around. "By the way, I thought  
this might interest you: Richard Thoms was hired by a man to play Mrs. Peel's husband. Steed  
turned solemn as he continued, "That man was you, Mother."  
  
For being cornered, Mother showed an enormous amount of levelheadedness. "Yes, Steed I did  
hire an actor, and I know he was murdered and replaced. However, I know the reason why I did  
it; do you?"  
  
"I was hoping you could fill in that little gap for me," Steed replied in an equally as composed  
voice. But unlike Mother, Steed was on the point of being rash and vindictive. He glared angrily  
at Mother, his whole countenance changing from several minutes earlier.  
  
Just then Smyth entered the room. "Mother, I lost track of Steed, and I'm sure he's got the  
information by now." He stopped short at the sight of Steed standing in the room as nonchalant  
as if he had been discussing the weather.  
  
"We were playing a game of cat and mouse, and I wasn't even told?" Steed asked. "How unfair; I  
was at a disadvantage."  
  
"Grab him," Mother ordered severely.  
  
As Smyth came thrashing at him, Steed ducked, sending Smyth to the floor. Smyth got up and  
punched Steed squarely in the right eye. Steed's bowler hat went sailing. Mother watched it fly  
across the room and then turned his attention to the brawl, serene as ever.  
  
Unprepared for such an offense, the only thing Steed could do was hit Smyth with his umbrella.  
This he did with such force that his umbrella handle cracked and split apart. Smyth grabbed  
Steed's arms and they began swerving around the room, Steed trying to loose Smyth's grip and  
Smyth trying to keep it. Steed won and socked Smyth in the breadbasket. Smyth toppled over,  
completely winded.   
  
Steed retrieved his bowler, placed it back on his head, gazed at his shattered umbrella, and  
quitted the room. He walked slowly down the halls, lost in deep contemplation. Why did Mother  
not want him to know that Mr. Peel was an imposter? Furthermore, why had he been so brutally  
attacked for finding out this information?  
  
Wincing with pain, Steed headed toward Mrs. Peel's flat.  
  
*******************  
  
  
Steed rang the doorbell to Mrs. Peel's flat and waited impatiently for her to answer. When Mrs.  
Peel didn't open the door, Steed let himself in. "Mrs. Peel, I need your help!" He called in a  
rather whiny voice.  
  
Mrs. Peel emerged from her bedroom, toting several outfits behind her. She gazed at Steed's  
black eye and remarked wryly, "Having a touch of deja vu are we?" She was referring to the time  
Steed had been escorted to an elevator after trespassing and then had been punched severely. She  
sighed in exasperation and asked, "What do you want me to do?"  
  
"Well, nursing me back to health would be preferable." Steed slunk onto her sofa, moaning softly  
to himself.  
  
"I'm often surprised that a man who faces death daily can make such a fuss over a black eye."  
Mrs. Peel frowned slightly as she set her apparel over the back of a chair. "Now suppose you tell  
me what happened."  
  
"I told Mother that I knew of his plan of hiring Richard Thoms, and I was attacked."  
  
"By Mother?" Mrs. Peel inquired in utter surprise.  
  
"No, by Smyth." Steed tried to open his right eye and ended up cringing in discomfort. "I think  
he has something to do with this whole ordeal as well." He laid down on the settee and push his  
hat over his eyes as if he was going to sleep. Unfortunately, his bowler agitated his eye, causing  
him to yelp in pain. He quickly removed his hat from his head and placed it lovingly on the floor  
next to him. He propped himself up on his elbow and feigned a groan.  
  
"I gather we won't be going to that marvelous French cafe that I've heard so much about." Emma  
poured a glass of brandy for Steed and handed it to him. After a quick checking noise from Steed,  
she made sure to avoid stepping on his hat.  
  
"Of course we can't, not when I have this terrible black eye." Steed noted Mrs. Peel's mournful  
expression and added cheerily, "That doesn't mean we can't have a cozy dinner here." He looked  
up at her in a beguiling manner, causing Mrs. Peel to raise her eyebrows in suspicion. She  
entered her kitchen and retrieved a steak from her icebox.   
  
"Ah, a juicy steak for dinner; good thinking, Mrs. Peel." Steed, now fully sitting up, sipped his  
brandy contentedly.  
  
"The steak is for your eye." Mrs. Peel almost thrust the piece of frozen meat at Steed. She was  
not in the mood for flirtations, especially when she was deeply involved with a mystery.  
  
Steed confusedly stared at the frozen steak in his hand. He smacked the hunk of meat against a  
coffee table several times and made strange faces as the thoroughly frozen steak clunked noisily  
in return. Steed handed the meat back to Emma, replying, "If you don't mind, I think I'll pass on  
the first course."  
  
Emma returned the steak to its proper place in the freezer. As she was wiping her hands she  
called, "Oh by the way, Tara phoned me and told me to give you this message: 'Mother wanted  
to brainwash me, so I took a cab home. I'm all right now. I'll call you at your flat later tonight."  
  
Steed started in alarm and said angrily, "First Mother wants Smyth to wallop me, then he wants  
to brainwash Tara. Either Mother is getting senile, or something is seriously wrong."  
  
"I highly doubt its the first reason, and I'm almost certain its the latter." Mrs. Peel sat down in the  
leather chair that her apparel was draped across. She sexily crossed her legs and began meditating  
deeply. Abruptly, she suggested, "Let's get all the facts straight shall we?"  
  
Seeing the alluring Emma Peel refuse all of his flirtations was enough to encourage Steed to  
continue his gallant behavior. He loved toying with woman's heartstrings, and he got enormous  
satisfaction when he succeeded in flirting with Mrs. Peel. He got up from his position on the sofa  
and moved over towards Mrs. Peel until he was standing directly above her. "All right, this is all  
the information we've gathered so far. Fact: you're eyes are a most beautiful shade of brown." He  
grinned flirtatiously, watching Mrs. Peel's countenance turn from surprise, to pleasure, and then  
to a look of contemplation. She was obviously trying to come up with a witty reply.  
  
"Fact: you have more ways to change a subject than any other person I know." Emma looked up  
at Steed, and her hair cascaded across her face. She quickly brushed it aside and realised with  
some amusement that Steed was leaning in towards her.  
  
"Fact: your hair as a luscious way of falling across your face when you get riled up."  
  
"Fact: you are a somewhat annoying but utterly charming cad."  
  
Steed stood upright in surprise, his proper gentlemanly side indignant at being referred to by such  
a name. The feeling quickly passed and he managed to say, "A cad, Mrs. Peel?" His companion  
nodded sagely, suppressing a smile. "Well, I can't think of a proper response to that!"  
  
"Don't trouble yourself over it, Steed."  
  
"You can depend on me; I won't." They both exchanged mutual smiles that only they could  
understand.  
  
"To be perfectly serious," Emma began, "we only know several important factors. First of all,  
Mother hired Richard Thoms to play my husband. Then Thoms was killed by Edmund Bacarat  
and replaced by William Avery. Furthermore, they both want to kidnap me for some unknown  
reason. Other than that, we are completely clueless."  
  
"Not quite, Mrs. Peel. We also know that for whatever reason, we weren't supposed know that  
your husband was an imposter. As you recall, Mother was very upset when he realised Tara and I  
were on to him."  
  
"So, now all we have to do is find out where my real husband is, stop Bacarat and Avery from  
kidnaping me and find out why Mother is acting peculiar." Emma sighed and scratched her head  
in puzzlement.   
  
"Well, I'll just be moving along, if you don't mind Mrs. Peel. Tara will be calling soon, and I'd  
like to be at my flat when she does." Steed strolled to the door with Mrs. Peel trailing behind  
politely. He opened the door but seemed reluctant to leave. "Goodbye, and remember, we still  
have that dinner engagement."  
  
"I'll remember, Steed."  
  
"Sleep well, Mrs. Peel," he said with such tenderness that Emma felt her face flush crimson.  
  
Then something occurred that Mrs. Peel didn't remember ever happening except once or twice.  
She had the strangest impulse to kiss Steed. Trying to rid herself of the indecent idea, Mrs. Peel  
replied rather tartly, "Good night, Steed." Then much to Steed's surprise, she nearly pushed him  
out the door.   
  
Steed stared at the door, trying to piece the puzzle together. Mrs. Peel's abrupt behavior was very  
uncharacteristic of her. He shrugged, thinking to himself that she was most likely exhausted from  
the day's strenuous activities.   
  
Later that night, after Emma had finished her dinner, a man broke into her apartment. Mrs. Peel  
recognized the man as William Avery, and she could only guess that he probably wanted to  
kidnap her. Ready to attack if need be, Emma met the intruder.  
  
Avery seemed surprised to see Mrs. Peel standing determinedly in the middle of the living room.  
However, he assumed an unaffected air and asked cordially, "Hello, darling, how was your day?"  
He advanced towards her, but Mrs. Peel did not move.  
  
"Where's my husband?" Mrs. Peel demanded severely.  
  
"What are you talking about?" William answered uneasily. "I'm you're husband, Peter Peel."  
  
"You're William Avery, robber, murderer, and now impersonator." Emma crossed her arms over  
her chest in attempt to alarm her adversary. It only made Avery aware for the first time of Mrs.  
Peel's attractive figure.   
  
He surveyed her body attired in a black, two piece outfit. The pants were tight and so was the top,  
which revealed her whole stomach. He inched even closer to her, saying. "I'm sorry you found  
out, Mrs. Peel, because now I'm gonna have a terrible time trying to convince you to go with  
me."  
  
"Go with you where, Mr. Avery?"  
  
"To the old abandon furniture warehouse down on Brighton Lane. You see, I've come to kidnap  
you." He took a step even closer. "Now that you know my true identity, I may have to use  
physical force." He was now so close to her, she could feel his breath.   
  
Emma's hair stood on end as she felt Avery breathe directly on her. They both stared at each  
other, tensely waiting for the other one to make the first move. And then suddenly, Avery  
grabbed her neck and began choking her.  
  
Mrs. Peel tried to loose his strong grip, but it seemed futile. She held on to his wrists extremely  
tightly, hoping the strong pressure would be too much for him. Unfortunately, he was one of the  
strongest men she's ever encountered. Mrs. Peel was going to lose consciousness in a matter of  
seconds if she didn't think of anything. In a last attempt to loose his grip, Emma pulled her knee  
up to his stomach and stuck it into him. He made a horrible gasping noise and then let go.  
  
Emma took this opportune moment to gain her breath. Then she kicked him, hit him, and did a  
magnificent karate move that made him flip over on his back. Emma waited for her opponent to  
attack again, but he seemed rather winded. Mrs. Peel used this time to brush her hair out of her  
face, since it had so inconveniently fell into her eyes again. She walked over to Avery and placed  
her foot on his chest, making sure he couldn't escape. "All right," she began breathlessly, "where  
is my husband?"  
  
"I don't know," William replied in a pathetic whimper. Emma applied more pressure on his  
chest. "OK, I'll tell you. He's here in England, probably sleeping at the moment."  
  
"Is he your hostage by any chance?" Mrs. Peel asked, taking some of her weight off her  
adversary.   
  
"He isn't at the moment." Avery grinned wickedly. Emma stepped hard on him again, causing  
him to cry out in pain. "What more do you want from me?" he whined.  
  
"Will I be able to see him soon?"  
  
"How should I know, lady?" Avery tried to remove her foot but met with little success. "Look,  
you'll probably see him tomorrow." He simpered wildly, adding, "He'll be wearing a suit and a  
bowler, just like your friend Steed who you've been philandering with."  
  
"That is a very dirty thing to say," Emma exclaimed vehemently as her face turned a violent  
shade of red. Stop blushing, Emma, she thought to herself.  
  
Since Mrs. Peel was lost in thought, Avery was able to pull her feet out from under her. Now  
they were both on the floor, a terrible disadvantage. Avery grabbed the nearest item he could  
find, a flower vase that had been sitting on her coffee table. He took hold of Mrs. Peel's legs, so  
she couldn't get away, and raised the vase over her head menacingly.   
  
Emma Peel wriggled and squirmed to what seemed no avail. Avery brought the vase crashing  
down, but at the last moment, Emma freed herself and rolled out of harm's way. Rising to her  
feet, she posed in a karate maneuver and waited for Avery to fight her again.   
  
Avery got to his feet but grabbed the hand set of a telephone from a counter nearby. He began  
chasing Mrs. Peel around the room with it. Mrs. Peel jumped onto her settee just as Avery was  
about to hit her. Avery tried to reach her, but he had run out of telephone chord.  
  
"At the end of your chord, are you, Mr. Avery?" A smirk set on her face, Mrs. Peel placed her  
hands on her hips superiorly.   
  
Avery gazed frantically around him, and before Emma could stop him, dashed out the door. Mrs.  
Peel ran to the front door but was too late. Avery had once more managed to escape. 


	4. Second Day

Second Day  
  
  
The next morning Steed was fixing himself a pot of tea and thinking about Tara's phone call  
from the previous night. She had told him all about the fake Mrs. Peel file and Mother's failed  
attempt to brainwash her.  
  
Steed was interrupted from his musings by the doorbell. Steed hurriedly answered his front door,  
hoping it was Mrs. Peel. However, a different female met his eyes.  
  
"Mrs. Gale, what a pleasant surprise to see you." Steed smiled jovially as he beckoned her to  
come inside the apartment. "You'll have to excuse my appearance, for I wasn't expecting  
guests."  
  
Mrs, Gale surveyed his attire, which included the following: casual pants, and a white shirt under  
a forest green sweater with an large V neck. "I'll pretend not to notice," Cathy assured him in her  
cool and sophisticated manner.  
  
"Can I interest you in a cup of tea, Mrs. Gale?" Steed offered politely. Cathy accepted the  
invitation and was soon sipping tea noiselessly. "Well, what bit of business brings you to my  
humble abode?" Steed asked.  
  
"I've come to discuss an incredibly important issue with you."  
  
Steed chuckled, wondering what Mrs. Gale was going to say. He was amazed when he saw and  
heard the seriousness in her demeanor and voice. True, Mrs. Gale had always been the no  
nonsense type, but this time her gravity had an urgent tone that couldn't be ignored.  
  
"Steed," Cathy began tentatively, "do you remember the time your friend was brainwashed to  
believe that you were a murderer?"  
  
"How could I possibly forget?" They tried to brainwash me, too and almost succeeded. Steed  
nearly shuddered as he continued, "Those were some clever villains."  
  
"Not only villains are using ingraining techniques these days." Cathy set her teacup down with a  
loud clatter. "People on the right side of the law are involved with this ghastly procedure as  
well."  
  
"Oh, do you mean people like Mother?"  
  
"So you know already?" Cathy looked extremely relieved.  
  
Steed eyed her suspiciously before replying, "I know Mother tried to brainwash Tara yesterday  
when she found some valuable information."  
  
"What information did she discover?" Mrs. Gale asked eagerly. Steed relaid all the events from  
yesterday, starting with Mrs. Peel finding the strange revolver in her flat and ending with Tara  
fleeing from an infuriated Mother. When he finished, Cathy remarked, "I can understand why  
Mother tried to brainwash Tara. She was getting too close to discovering the truth."  
  
"What are you talking about, Mrs. Gale?"  
  
"Several years ago Mother brainwashed several people, and one of those people was you, Steed."  
  
"Did he program me to believe I was a dependable and marvelous agent?"   
  
"No, you already were that when he brainwashed you. Mother programmed you to think you  
were a distinguished bachelor, when in reality, you're married."  
  
Mr. Steed stared blankly at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. "You almost had me  
fooled, Mrs. Gale. What an excellent joke!"  
  
"I'm telling you the truth, Steed! Do you think I would waste my time telling you stupid  
falsehoods?"  
  
This comment sobered Steed up in an instant. "You're absolutely right, but why don't I recall  
being married?"  
  
"Because the whole point of brainwashing is to make you remember only what the person  
programmed into you. You could remember everything about your past except one important  
detail which has been deleted from your memory by the brainwasher. In your case, you were  
made to forget you were married."  
  
"It's utterly ridiculous. I am John Steed, top notch agent, noble gentleman, and well known  
bachelor. I would never devote myself to one woman unless it was absolutely necessary. I'm  
loved too much by too many ladies to get married."  
  
"Don't wave your wonderful attributes at me," Cathy spoke churlishly. Seeing that Steed was  
bent on rejecting her story, she raised her hands to the ceiling in defeat. "Fine, don't believe me,  
but don't say I didn't warn you. When you fall in love-"  
  
"When I fall in love I will be in my seventies, and it will be because I can't think of anything  
better to do."  
  
Cathy gave him a weathering look and stood up as if to leave. Suddenly she began talking again  
much to the displeasure of Steed. "Remember when Mrs. Parker was speaking to you at the  
party? She began to say something, but I interrupted her. Mrs. Parker was in the middle of  
saying, 'You already are married.'"  
  
Steed seemed ready to accept Mrs. Gale's story, but at the last moment he shook his head in  
incredulity. "Unless you can show my wife to me, I won't believe you."  
  
"All right, Doubting Thomas, have it your way. I'm not going to listen to your denials a minute  
longer." She angrily flounced to the door.  
  
"Are you on your way some other hapless bachelor's flat, ready to tell him that he's married to a  
nonexistent woman?"  
  
"No, I was going to buy a new pair of tyres for my motorbike." With that last remark, cat-suit  
clad Cathy stormed out of the vicinity.  
  
Steed laughed to himself once more at the preposterous idea. However, his laughter was checked  
at the recollection of really being at the altar and murmuring his "I do's." Steed beheld his lovely  
bride standing next to him, a vision of loveliness in her white lace and satin. He tried to visualize  
her face, but all he could see was a shadowy countenance covered by a veil. He could hear her  
voice, though, and it reminded him of silvery bells and ocean waves all rolled into one. Steed  
was lifting the veil now, and his wife was . . .  
  
Steed snapped out of his reverie and looked about him. Mrs. Gale's nonsensical talk was playing  
on his mind. "Now I'm 'remembering' an event that never happened," Steed commented to  
himself. "I'll wager Mrs. Peel will get a few chuckles out of this news."   
  
After dressing in more respectable attire, namely a suit, Steed head towards Mrs. Peel's flat. As  
he drove, bits and pieces of what seemed to be another life flashed before his eyes. He saw  
himself playing at the beach, having weekend picnics, traveling to France and Italy, all with an  
unknown woman. It wasn't like Steed to forget a pretty face, but he was positive that these events  
really took place. Could what Mrs. Gale have said actually be true? And if it was true, did he  
really want to remember it?  
  
**************************  
  
  
Steed barged into Mrs. Peel's flat without a single rap on the door or a ring of the doorbell. "Mrs.  
Peel, I'm married."  
  
Emma peaked out from behind the still life of champagne which she was working on again.  
"Congratulations; who's the lucky girl?" She believed this was merely another one of Steed's  
jokes.  
  
"I don't know who my wife is. If you want to know so badly you might ask Mrs. Gale. She's the  
one who came over to my flat this morning, claiming I had been brainwashed to forget I was  
married. Isn't that the most absurd news you ever heard?"  
  
"It is, but I'm afraid if it came from the serious Mrs. Gale it must be true," replied Emma Peel  
half in earnest and half in jest.  
  
"Don't tease me Mrs. Peel, not when I'm in this terrible predicament. I'm beginning to believe it  
was really true, and that makes the whole matter worse. I don't want to be married to any woman  
unless she was my absolute ideal girl."  
  
"And with your high standards she probably does not exist."  
  
"That's why I gave my dream woman such impossible requirements, so I'd never fall in love  
with anybody."  
  
Mrs. Peel smirked, but fortunately her face was hidden behind the canvass. "Being married can  
be a truly enjoyable experience," she proclaimed diplomatically. Under her breath she added, "If  
your spouse is ever at home, anyway."  
  
If Steed heard her, he made no response. Instead he picked up the bottle of champagne Mrs. Peel  
was painting and began inspecting it. After Mrs. Peel produced several admonishing sounds, he  
set the bottle back in its proper place.  
  
"Speaking of spouses, I learned that my husband is in England."  
  
"Who told you that?" Steed demanded more severely than was necessary. He was rather  
disconcerted at the thought of Mr. Peel being so close to home.  
  
"William Avery dropped by last night to kidnap me." Mrs. Peel dabbed and dashed at her  
painting, enjoying Steed's noises of dismay at her comment. "He managed to escape, but not  
before I pried some valuable information out of him. He told me to look out for a man in a  
bowler and suit." She wandered to her window and drawing back her curtain, surveyed every  
man that went by on the sidewalk.  
  
Steed looked out as well and couldn't resist saying, "I'll be sure to ask every man attired in a  
bowler and suit to come over to Mrs. Peel's flat for a glass of sherry and biscuits. Then when  
every man that can possibly cram into your flat is present, the difficult task of finding your real  
husband will begin."   
  
'Here ye here ye, a proclamation from Mrs. Peel has been decreed. If any one of you is Mr. Peter  
Peel, please step forward and claim your bride.' Every single man will be at your feet, swearing  
he's your long lost husband." Steed grinned impishly at her, letting this offhanded compliment  
sink into Mrs. Peel's brain.  
  
The flattery had no affect on Mrs. Peel, who was clearly unamused. "You're absolutely no help at  
all." She flounced back to her painting and gave it one last stroke. "There, it's finished; will you  
have a look at it, Steed?"  
  
Steed admired it for several seconds before declaring, "It's one of the best works of art I've ever  
seen. It captures the true essence of champagne in a bottle. However, you should have painted  
some glasses with champagne next to the bottle, for it would have added even more depth to the  
painting."  
  
"I'll devote my next portrait entirely on that subject, Steed." Steed patted her arm, utterly  
pleased.  
  
"And while we're still on the subject of husbands," Mrs. Peel began, "I don't believe my husband  
ever had a mustache. I think that Avery just added the mustache because he was modeling  
himself after Thoms."  
  
"Well, that's very probable, Mrs. Peel, but what does this have to with anything?"  
  
"I've been thinking of getting this picture enlarged." She gingerly handled the locket with the last  
remaining picture of her husband. "I know it only shows his mouth and nose, but if I'm going to  
be looking at every man in a bowler and suit, I've got to at least have some idea of his  
countenance."  
  
"Where do you plan to go for this process?"  
  
"There's a photography store not so far from here that specializes in enlarging pictures."  
  
"Splendid, I'll go with you."  
  
Emma and Steed climbed into her Lotus and sped off. Steed jolted back as the fast car raced  
down the street at a frightening pace. He gripped his hat with one hand and the edge of the seat  
with his other.  
  
Soon they arrived at a shop bearing the sign, Finney's Film and Photography Ltd. Steed escorted  
Mrs. Peel inside, and they were met with a strange sight. Humongous pictures of human  
appendages aligned the dimly lit room. The pictures were on a thick board substance that  
obviously had been designed to keep the five feet high photos from falling over from it's own  
weight.  
  
One picture showed just an elbow, clad in a wool sweater; while another photo showed a pair of  
shapely female legs wearing sharp stilettos. "I'd like to meet the owner of these," Steed  
commented idly as he eyed that picture.  
  
Suddenly a man with bottle cap glasses and frizzy hair entered the room. "May I help you?" he  
asked in a nasal voice.  
  
"For starters, would you mind telling me who belongs to those legs?" Steed asked in a most  
caddish manner.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Finney start at him in confusion.  
  
"I would like this picture enlarged, Mr. Finney," Emma replied before Steed could make some  
unsavory response.   
  
"What part of it?"  
  
"Well, all of it, naturally." Now Mrs. Peel looked befuddled, but she quickly regain composure.  
  
"I'm sorry to bewilder you, but my speciality is enlarging only certain sections of the picture."  
Mr. Finney smiled as if this was a most important art. "You see, most of this work was used for  
advertisements. This," he gestured at the legs, "Was used in a magazine ad that was selling a pair  
of high heels."  
  
"It must have been a successful advertisement," Steed remarked.  
  
"I wouldn't think there would be there much need for elbows, though." Mrs. Peel nodded at the  
other strange picture.  
  
"That," Mr. Finney began sadly, "was originally going to be used for a watch ad."  
  
"There's no watch in this picture!" Steed exclaimed.  
  
"Of course there isn't! I accidently cut out the rest of the arm when I was first enlarging it, and I  
never had time to redo it." Mr. Finney sighed in dismay, and then asked politely, "What picture  
do you want me to enlarge?"  
  
After seeing what sort of photos Mr. Finney was interested in, Mrs. Peel was dubious as to  
whether she should give him her picture or not. After all, he might destroy it, and then she would  
have no pictures left of her husband. After a moment of hesitation, Mrs. Peel reluctantly handed  
over her locket.  
  
Mr, Finney examined it and replied, "This is a very easy piece to enlarge, for there are no sharp  
angles. Who is this man, Miss-"  
  
"Mrs. Peel," Emma finished for him, "and the man in the picture is my husband."  
  
"Ah, I can see the resemblance." Mr. Finney eyed Steed as he spoke, indicating that he thought  
John was Mr. Peel.  
  
Steed stared at him in puzzlement before he got the meaning of Finney's gaze. "Oh, no I'm not  
her husband, Mr. Finney." Finney raised his eyebrows in suspicion before he wandered off to his  
laboratory.   
  
Mrs. Peel wandered around the room, surveying the odd assortment of photographs. "One thing I  
can say for Mr. Finney is he knows how to make large pictures." She gesticulated at a massive  
picture of a toothy grin. "Do you suppose it was used to advertise for a dentist office or for a  
brand of toothpaste?"  
  
Steed stood next to her and likewise analyzed the picture. "It was definitely for toothpaste, Mrs.  
Peel." Steed and Emma exchanged smiling glances, and began inspecting all the other pictures  
on display. This kept them occupied while they waited for Mr. Finney to return with the larger  
picture.   
  
Finally Finney returned, holding a portrait about one foot in length and width. Mrs. Peel and  
Steed stared at the picture in incredulity, wondering why on earth Mr. Finney deemed it  
necessary to make photos of teeth four feet high, yet failed to make Mrs. Peel's picture any larger  
than any normal portrait. True, it was bigger than the original picture, but it wasn't large enough  
to detect anything important.  
  
Steed made several reproachful noises and cried, "Really, Mr. Finney, you utterly disappoint me!  
When you promised to enlarge this photograph I pictured it being five feet high and at least four  
feet across. We want this picture to be so huge that you can recognize this man when you're  
twenty feet away. We want to be able to feel like he was in the room with us, ready to grab our  
hands and console us in times of need.   
  
"This picture could hardly satisfy anyone, let alone a demanding man like myself. Take it away  
and enlarge to the size of this photo." Steed pointed at the picture of the toothy grin.  
  
Emma had remained silent during Steed's entire tirade, letting him ham it up in his usually  
charming fashion, but she absolutely refused to stand by while he ordered Finney to enlarge her  
photo to an impractical size. "Mr. Finney, could you please make this photo two and 3/4 feet in  
height and four feet in width? And could you put it on this cardboard material? I don't want my  
picture so large and flimsy that it falls over."  
  
Mr. Finney, thoroughly confused with Steed's oration, nodded his head. He finally was beginning  
to make sense of the odd pair. He scurried off, muttering "That man is the most insane person  
I've ever encountered." Soon he returned with the perfect picture, and after Mrs. Peel paid him  
generously (too generously by Steed's critique), Mr. Steed and Emma were on their way home.   
  
Emma drove up to her apartment complex and inquired of her friend, "How's Mr. Peel fairing?"  
  
After racing through town at a speed that wasn't at all befitting for his proper gentleman ways,  
Steed regained his composure enough to gaze at the backseat where the picture was resting. "Mr.  
Peel appears to be doing very well."  
  
Emma smiled and stepped out of her car. Steed followed her example, and they began lifting the  
photograph put of the Lotus. Suddenly Emma commanded, "Look over there, Steed."  
  
Steed complied her fervent order and beheld a man leaving another apartment complex across the  
street. The man was wearing a black pinstripe suit and a black bowler hat. Swinging slowly as he  
walked, an umbrella hung from his left arm.  
  
Steed and Peel compared the picture to the man strolling complacently down the sidewalk. "Is  
there any resemblance?" Steed asked curiously.  
  
"No, his nose is to big." Emma replied, referring to the stranger, "and his hair is lighter as well."  
  
Steed stared at her strangely, for it was quite a ridiculous to make such a remark. Besides being a  
black and white photo, Mr. Peel's hair was mostly covered by his hat. It was impossible to see  
how dark his hair was.  
  
Letting this strange comment pass, Steed helped Emma carry the photo into her flat. They  
propped it against a wall and began scrutinizing it. They each called out the name of every man  
who resembled Mr. Peel, even if he only wore the same apparel as Mrs. Peel's husband. They  
named friends, claiming they had amnesia and didn't know their real name was Peter Peel. Steed  
and Peel even named people they had passed once on the street. In short, they didn't recognize  
the man in the photo at all and were merely making a blind stab at what Mr. Peel really looked  
like.  
  
After fifteen minutes of that nonsense, Mrs. Peel gave up all hope. "Steed, it's useless to suggest  
that any of the men we named are my husband. Some of them we've only seen once, so how can  
we possibly say they resemble my Peter?" Emma pointed at the picture and continued, "Anyone  
can resemble another person when you just get a glimpse of them. I can't tell you the countless  
times I've mistaken another man for you. It's even worse in this case, for we have only this silly  
picture to go by. Anyone can have a nose and smile like that. Well, maybe not that smile."  
  
"If that's the way you feel, I don't think I can be of any more service at the moment. I'll see you  
later Mrs. Peel, maybe even for dinner." Steed lifted his hat to place it on his head. In doing so,  
the bowler passed over his chin, mouth, and nose. When it was over Steed's eyes, Emma's heart  
did a rather uncharacteristic thing: it skipped a beat. Steed looked exactly like her husband!   
  
"Steed pass your hat over your eyes again," Mrs. Peel ordered slowly.  
  
Not understanding the reason for her odd request, Steed stared at her in confusion. However, he  
removed his hat and began circling around as if he were a model. His procedure reminded Mrs.  
Peel of an unsavory person, Gordon Webster. "Is this the proper setting for such an operation?"  
Steed joked.  
  
Emma grabbed him by the arms and maneuvered him in front of the picture. She took Steed's hat  
and began lifting it in front of his eyes, first looking at his face and then gazing at the picture.   
  
"Look, I don't mean to be rude, Mrs. Peel, but I can't see straight with that object flying across  
my face every moment." Steed snatched his hat away from the puzzling Emma Peel and  
examined her face. "Are you feeling all right, dear?"  
  
Mrs. Peel snapped out of her musings and replied in a strange whisper, "I'm wonderful, Steed."  
She must have realised how peculiar she sounded, for she repeated her response in a normal  
voice. She smiled and straightened his suit coat. "Now, don't worry about a thing, darli-I mean  
Steed. You just run along on your merry way, visit Tara if you like."  
  
"If you keep saying such odd things I think I'll stay." Steed eyed her suspiciously and added,  
"You don't think I'm that man in the photo, for I can tell you right now, you're mistaken. That's  
your husband, Peter Peel the pilot."  
  
"Steed, how you do carry on sometimes." Emma ushered him to the door, Steed protesting all the  
while. "Goodbye; see you tonight." She shut the door, in deep meditation.   
  
Her husband looked like Steed. That could either mean that her husband just resembled Steed  
exceedingly, or the picture was really of Steed. If the photograph was of Steed, then when was it  
taken? It couldn't have been on her honeymoon as she had thought before. It must have been  
around the time when she first met Steed, for he looked considerably younger than he was now.  
Mrs. Peel tried to recall when she had met Steed, but her memory was hazy.   
  
In fact, as she tried to recollect other events in her past, she found it quite difficult. Certain things  
were easy to remember, like past episodes with criminals and all the education she had learned in  
school. But when she tried to recall social affairs in her life from 1959 to 1965, she found herself  
grappling for the information. She could only remember bits and pieces of her life, her taking  
over her father's business and some hilarious incidents with her husband.   
  
Emma thought of her husband's countenance, and again was confused. She couldn't see his face  
or hear his voice at all.   
  
It's almost as if I had amnesia, Mrs. Peel thought. Suddenly another notion formed in her head, a  
notion that made Mrs. Peel shudder. "Maybe I've been brainwashed," Emma began thoughtfully,  
"but why?" Emma didn't want to think of the answer, not at the moment anyway. She was  
exhausted and disconcerted, two feelings she didn't often experience.  
  
Not paying attention, Mrs. Peel picked up her locket and toyed with it. She cast it onto her  
counter and turned the large photo of her husband-or was it Steed?- around, so it was facing the  
wall. She would relax and ignore the fact that she was having a strange case of forgetfulness.   
  
Emma picked up her newspaper in order to get submersed in the stories and read the front page  
headline that said as follows: Fatal Car Crash Leaves Survivor Amnesiac. She quickly flipped  
to the next page and was confronted with the article, World Famous Steeds to Compete in  
Race Next Week.  
  
Emma growled in annoyance as she tossed the newspaper across the room. So far her plan wasn't  
working.  
  
To Be Continued . . . 


	5. Second Afternoon

Second Afternoon  
  
Meanwhile, Tara had gone to Steed's flat and found once more that he was not at home. Steed hadn't left a note as to where he was, and though Tara guessed he was visiting Mrs. Peel, she remained at his flat in case her assumption was wrong.  
  
Making herself at home, Tara went to Steed's personal bar and took out a new bottle of champagne. She popped the cork but did it with such force that it flew into oblivion. This did not worry Tara in the least, for she knew where Steed kept spare corks and other miscellaneous items.  
  
She wandered to his kitchen where the usual odds and ends drawer is located. Bottle openers, pocketknives, string, and corks cluttered what seemed to be a minuscule drawer. As she rummaged through the drawer for the right size, something small and glistening caught her attention. Well, it wasn't really glistening, for several years of being crammed in the back of the drawer had made the item illustrious and grimy.   
  
On further investigation she realised it was a male wedding ring, but what was it doing in Steed's drawer? She put it up to the light and noted the initials J. S. inscribed on the band. "Steed, you were married?" Tara asked in alarm. She pocketed the strange bobble and immediately left, her champagne still sitting on table, untouched.  
  
She had to find Steed if it took her hours of futile searching. She sped to Mrs. Peel's apartment complex, wondering if Steed even knew that he was married. Tara selfishly prayed that if Steed had ever been married, his wife was now dead.   
  
Soon she arrived and barged into Mrs. Peel's flat in such a way that Emma was sure it was Avery returning to kidnap her.   
  
Mrs. Peel was more than relieved when she saw Tara standing in the doorway, but she was also puzzled as to why Tara was visiting her. "Tara, what are you doing here?"  
  
"I must see Steed, and I thought he might be here." Tara scanned the flat and was disappointed to note that Steed was nowhere in sight.  
  
"You just missed him, but if you like, you can stay for lunch."  
  
"No, that's all right; I must see him immediately." Tara clutched the ring and dashed to the door, but Emma checked her.  
  
"Please, at least stay for a cup of tea, and I can tell you all that Steed and I have discovered today concerning the mystery."   
  
Tara reluctantly complied Mrs. Peel's request and sat stiffly on the sofa. She gazed at the large photo that was leaning face forward into the wall and asked, "What is that?"  
  
Emma explained everything about the photo to Tara, except that subject of the picture might be Steed. She didn't want to spread a falsehood just because she had a silly notion.   
  
After Emma finished her explanation, an uncomfortable silence ensued. Emma leaned on the counter and idly swung her locket by its silver chain.   
  
The sterling silver trinket caught Tara's attention, and she asked curiously, "That's the locket with the picture of your husband, isn't it?" When Emma nodded in response, Tara got up from her perch on the settee and walked over to Emma. She examined it closely, entranced by its beauty. "May I hold it, please?"  
  
Emma, being the genial host the she was, handed over her prized possession to the eager Tara. Tara clasped it firmly in her hands, barely acknowledging Mrs. Peel's conversation. "It was a wedding present from Peter's mother. She was quite ecstatic about her son getting married, because he had been a bit of a roamer in is early life, a bachelor like . . . Steed." Tara and she each began thinking of the handsome man in the bowler hat and respectable suit.  
  
Emma snapped out of her reverie and continued, "The locket is rather tarnished now, but it's nothing that can't be polished." Mrs. Peel flipped the locket over and pointed to some faded letters on the back. "It has my initials engraved into them; E for Emma, K for Knight, and P for Peel."  
  
Tara didn't want to admit it, but she could barely make out the initials. In fact, the p looked more like an s to her. She merely said, "How lovely it is."  
  
Emma mused for a moment and added, "It's funny, but I don't know how it got so dirty. I thought I took very good care of this piece. Oh well, I guess time will weather anything regardless how conscientious you are." She smiled sadly and went to get some tea.  
  
Tara stayed for a cup of tea and then headed towards Steed's flat. Halfway there an interesting thought hit her. What would Steed's reaction be when he saw the wedding ring and heard that he was married? Wouldn't it be better to be absolutely sure that the ring belonged to him before telling him such depressing news?  
  
Tara turned her Lotus in the direction of Ministry Headquarters. Mother would have all the information that she needed, and if Tara knew Mother, it would be hidden in that off limits room.   
  
Tara didn't think about the fact that she hadn't been able to find Emma's real file, so why would she be able to find Steed's? She also didn't think about the probability that Mother was keeping a good eye on that off limits room ever since Tara's break in. All she knew was she wanted to find out if Steed was married, where Mr. Peel was, and if Mother had anything to with all of it.  
  
Glancing each way before she moved, Tara deftly crept through the halls at the agency. Soon she arrived at the room with the myriad of personnel files, and barely breathing, she picked the lock once more. Tara tiptoed stealthily to the S files and gingerly opened the first drawer. Being that there were so many S names, the ST names were not catalogued until the second drawer. Soon she found the spot where his file should be, but there was no folder in sight.   
  
Suddenly the door slammed, and it's echo reverberated through the entire building. Tara glanced up from her spying, her whole body besieged with terror. Mr. Smyth glared at her with such wrath in his eyes that she was certain he would have killed her right then if it wasn't for the fact  
that Mother was sitting in his wheelchair next to him.  
  
"We caught you snooping again, Miss King, and you can be sure that this time you'll face the consequences." Smyth advanced towards Tara, looking ready to pounce on the contumacious girl.  
  
Tara ran to Mother for refuge, even though he looked as infuriated as Smyth. "Why can't I find Steed's file, Mother? Is it because he's married, and you didn't want anyone finding out?" With this last comment, Tara produced the wedding ring.  
  
"Where did you find this, Tara?" Mother asked, successfully evading her question.   
  
"It was hidden in one of his drawers at his flat." Tara stared pitifully at Mother, her dreams of marrying Steed quickly disintegrating.  
  
"I thought you had destroyed this item." Mother turned his contemptuous glare at Smyth.  
  
"It wasn't my job to destroy the wedding ring; it was Mitchell's." Smyth was now whining in a very childish manner.  
  
Tara interrupted their quibbling with an urgent entreaty. "Please tell me what's going on!"  
  
Smyth and Mother exchanged simultaneous glances, and then Smyth lifted Tara off her feet, dragging her into Mother's office. "Now it's time for a precious bed time story," Smyth explained maliciously.  
  
"You must swear not to tell a living soul about this information, for as soon as you do, we will find you and hypnotize you to forget." Mother stared at her solemnly before continuing, "Do you understand, Tara?"  
  
Tara managed to nod in response, but really she still had no idea of what was going on. All she knew was that Steed was probably married and she was miserable. She listened intently to Mother's tale, not wishing to miss a single word.  
  
Mother cleared his throat and stared at the ceiling, as if that would help him narrate the story better. "Once there was an intelligent, handsome, young man by the name of John Wickham Gascoyne Berresford Steed. To use an oxymoron, he was a roguuish gentlemen. He could never get through the day without . . . well, flirting, but he did it with such a respectable manner no one ever minded, especially the ladies."  
  
Steed was part of a spy agency, and he was extremely good at his profession. One day he was assigned to a particularly difficult case: businessmen were disappearing after being stalked, and no one knew who was the kidnapper. All they knew was these businessmen were staying at a fancy resort near Derbyshire, and that it was imperative that Steed hurry on over with one of his partners. I don't remember which partner it was, either King or Keel. You see, I wasn't the head of the ministry at this time, so I'm just relying on the information that was given to me at the time of my initiation. Anyway, Steed and, whichever man it was, sleuthed and eventually solved the case."  
  
While on this case, Steed had meant an attractive young woman, and being what kind of a man he was, Steed had been trying to win her affections. However, this woman was Steed's counterpart in almost every way. She would not fall so easily for the charming Steed, and for once, Steed was at a lost. He did everything humanly possible to get her to love him. I don't know how or when it happened, but this woman suddenly was desperately in love with him."  
  
"I can tell you how it happened, Mother," Tara interrupted him quietly. "Steed is just so very wonderful at everything that it's natural for every woman to fall in love with him."  
  
Mother muttered some sort of agreement and then continued, "Steed, knowing how difficult it had been to get this woman to love him, realised it would be indecent just to end the relationship, but what else was there to do? I suppose Steed thought about it for a full day in between solving the mystery, which was still going on at this time. Finally he made a rather startling discovery.  
He, John Steed, renown spy and bachelor, had for the first time in his thirty odd years of existence fallen in love."  
  
A nauseating feeling entered Tara's stomach at the thought of Steed being in love with woman. She plucked up enough courage to ask, "What did Steed do, get married?"  
  
"Yes, he got married, a terrible thing to do to such an independent woman."  
  
"But they were in love," Tara protested, "and if I know Steed, he did everything he could to make her happy."  
  
"Of course he did. Mrs. Steed and he both worked, him as a spy, her as a business woman. It was really a very shocking thing to do to her, but they both found the arrangement admirable. Then the inevitable occurred, and Steed was faced with a new challenge. His wife was-"  
  
"Pregnant?" Tara shrieked in alarm.  
  
"No, she was getting worried about him because of his profession. She insisted that she should be able to join the ministry and be partners with her husband, so they'd never be separated. Steed thought it was a simple enough request, considering what his other option was, which would be quitting the ministry. But One-ten, who was the head of the ministry at the time, disagreed, and I can see why. If his wife was his work partner, Steed was liable to get distracted from his work. They would be kissing and carrying on in a disgusting fashion while the criminals got away."  
  
Soon Steed was taking off more days to spend with his wife, and so One-ten became panicky. What if this was Steed's way of letting us know that he wanted to quit the ministry? So One-ten did the only thing he could think of: he brainwashed Steed to forget that he was married, and he brainwashed his wife to think she was a widow of a man named Mr. Peter Peel. One-ten programmed them to still be very close friends, thinking this would compensate for his actions."  
  
Tara let out a gasp of utter stupefaction. Then her feelings all spilled out like rain in a torrential downpour. "You had no right to do that to Steed! He was happy, and you didn't have any proof that he wanted to quit the ministry! Mrs. Steed had every right to be concerned about her husband, and that's a stupid reason as to why Mrs. Steed couldn't join the ministry!"  
  
Mother looked indignantly at her. "You should be grateful that One-ten programmed them and glad that I and every other boss of the ministry had the wisdom to keep them brainwashed all these years. The marriage wouldn't have worked out, and they would have divorced."  
  
"Steed would never divorce; it's not dignified to do such a thing. Besides, from the way you described it, he seemed extremely ecstatic about his marriage." Tara buried her head in her hands. "Oh, Steed, I wish you knew the truth- oh no I don't!" Tara shook her head as she murmured, "I'm most seriously confused."  
  
"Well, don't worry about a thing, Miss King," Smyth consoled. "You can't ever tell him, because if you do, you'll both be brainwashed."  
  
Tara gazed in horror at the solemn men before, and with an unexpected surge of courage, she stood up and proclaimed, "I learned several things in the class I took in being an agent. One of those things was, 'When in doubt as to what to do, tell the truth.' Try to brainwash me and Steed, but remember, you're the ones who taught us everything we know. We can shoot and fight dirty, and I mean dirty."   
  
Tara noted their nervous glances and added, "Don't worry about my revealing everything to Steed, gentlemen. I couldn't bring myself to tell the man I love that he's married. Your secret is safe with me, but if Steed ever shows any sign of being in love with Mrs. Peel, you can be sure he'll find out the truth." Tara marched confidently out of the building, but as soon as she was safe from any prying eyes, she broke down.  
  
John Steed, the love of her relatively short life, was married and to the woman she had always suspected he fancied the most. When she thought of the many witty comments and the tender glances Steed and Emma had exchanged, her heart seemed to writhe with pain.   
  
No, she would never tell Steed the truth. Let him rue the day he ever met "Mrs. Peel," flirt with scads of girls, even kiss other woman. She would be relentless in her decision, as resolute as Mother and Mr. Smyth.  
  
Tara chuckled evilly, pure jealousy attacking her heart, soul, and mind. Mother was right to have kept them brainwashed, but then he had to be right. For as the old adage goes, "Mother knows best."  
  
***************  
  
Steed pressed Mrs. Peel's doorbell with the handle of his black brolly and waited. He was about to take Mrs. Peel out for dinner, and he wanted to arrive at the restaurant at the appointed time. When Emma finally opened the door, Steed seemed to go into a speechless stupor.  
  
Emma was dressed in a slinky black dress, complete with a revealing split in the side. Her hair had been curled and then piled onto her head in a hairstyle that Steed did not often see on the attractive lady. She smiled provocatively and said, "I hope this isn't too formal for the restaurant you chose."  
  
Steed regained his composure and replied, "I said it was an expensive restaurant, and that black tie was imperative. You're wearing a formal gown; I guess you followed my instructions."  
  
Emma smiled and emitted Steed into her home. "I thought we'd have a glass of champagne before we left, if that's all right with you."   
  
Steed glanced at his watch as he did the mathematics. "Our reservation isn't until eight o'clock, so that leaves us with ten minutes for aperitifs and fifteen minutes to drive to the restaurant."  
  
"I gather this place you're taking me isn't the little French Cafe I've heard you praise so often." Emma Peel poured two glasses of their favourite vintage of champagne and handed one to Steed.  
  
"No, it's better than the French Cafe and for several reasons. First of all, it has tables in dark corners, so I will be able to hide my black eye fairly well." Steed grinned with pleasure at his remark, but Emma merely raised her eyebrows suspiciously.  
  
"Are you sure that's the reason you like the dark corners?" She didn't wait for a response but asked, "By the way, how is your eye?"  
  
"It's doing much better thanks to the capable nursing of a certain charming woman." Steed raised his glass as a gesture of gratitude.  
  
"Don't flatter me too much, or it will go straight to my head." Emma poured herself some more champagne and strolled over to her window. She looked up to the sky and exclaimed, "What a lovely night!"  
  
Steed wandered over to the window to see what she meant. "I ordered the evening just for you, my dear."  
  
"I can't see the stars too well. Either I'm going blind, or they're too far away to be seen clearly."  
  
Steed gazed into her brown eyes, outlined by long lashes. "What a pity; they're so beautiful . . . the stars, that is."  
  
Emma turned to around and collided with Steed. They stared at each other for several seconds as if wondering what to do. This would have been the most opportune time to kiss if it weren't for the fact that Mrs. Peel was married, or so they thought.  
  
Finally Emma snapped out of the spell like state of mind and hurried over to her personal bar. With a giant, lamentable sigh, she poured herself some more champagne.  
  
"Don't get tipsy, Emm-er- Mrs. Peel," Steed warned, genuine concern immensely notable in his voice.  
  
Emma tried to collect herself, but she was having great difficulty. This was the second time in 24 hours that she had the wonderful impulse to kiss Steed. If I were a widow, I'd kiss Steed as if there was no tomorrow, Emma thought. Being married seemed to be a greater burden than it should be, and she was at a loss as to what she should do. She took another sip of champagne and feigning a smile, turned to Steed. "It's about time to leave, don't you think?"  
  
Steed responded by draping a fur boa around Mrs. Peel and escorting her out the door. As he drove her to the restaurant, a silence seemed to cover them like a dark pall. Steed realised he had almost kissed Emma, and this concerned him. His feelings for Mrs. Peel seemed to be stronger than just an attraction or a flirtation.   
  
Without a single word, the two mutually ignored the strange incident and began to look forward for the exquisite dinner that awaited them.  
  
Later that evening, Steed ushered an extremely inebriated Emma Peel to her flat. It seemed she had tried to submerse herself in the champagne to forget her troubles. Emma had a strong constitution, though, so she only had the minor affects of alcohol.  
  
Emma swaggered into her flat, humming softly to herself. She dropped her wrap on the floor and sat down on her sofa, kicking her shoes off to add to the tipsy movements. "That was a lovely dinner, Steed. We should do it more often; don't you agree?"  
  
"You know, when your husband returns home you won't be able to see me at all. It wouldn't be proper for a gentleman to be calling on a married woman to engage her in activities like dinner."  
  
Emma started at this piece of information and exclaimed vehemently, "I hope he never returns home, Steed." Emma hiccuped, shattering the romantic yet awkward atmosphere. She stumbled to her feet but then immediately sat down again. Steed was about to make his departure when Emma commented, "You know what I'm going to do tomorrow, Steed?"  
  
Steed really wasn't prepared for that sort of question, so he merely shrugged and muttered several undistinguishable sentences. This seemed to be an adequate answer for Emma, because she continued, "I'm going over to the old furniture warehouse down on Brighton Lane, and I'm going to investigate the area."  
  
Steed raised an eyebrow, questioning Mrs. Peel's soberness. "Why would you go to that dangerous place?"  
  
"I'll tell you why, Steed." Emma smiled a strange, intoxicated smile before commencing her explanation. "When Avery came to kidnap me, he told me in strictest confidence that he and Bacarat were going to take me to the old warehouse. Now they are probably hiding there, for why else would Avery say he was going to take me there?"  
  
"Why else indeed?" Steed didn't know whether he should believe her or not, so he decided to go with his instincts. He listened to Mrs. Peel as if she was sober and sane.   
  
"Steed, what are you going to do tomorrow?" Emma stood up once more and began to sloppily take out her hairdo.  
  
"Oh, I think I'll see why Mother is acting like an ole sour puss." Smiling, Steed steadied the tipsy Emma Peel by taking hold of her shoulders. "Now you get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning." Steed sauntered to the door, saying, "I'll be over bright and early with my secret recipe for a stinger. It'll be sure to clear your hangover in an half hour." With that last remark, Steed quitted the apartment.  
  
Emma gazed adoringly at her closed front door, as if hoping John Steed would appear again. As she did so, she made a surprising discovery. I'm in love with Steed! Emma gasped.   
  
Emma Peel was in the worst predicament of her life. She was married to a man she didn't love, and in love with a man she wasn't married to. She hiccoughed again and shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. She stumbled to her bedroom, barely making it to her bed.   
  
If only I hadn't gone to the reunion party two days ago, she thought remorsefully. Then I wouldn't have realised my true feelings for Steed, and I would have just thought our relationship was just one of those flirtations that spins off into oblivion. Well, I know now, and there's nothing I can do about it. My husband won't want a divorce, and even if he did, Steed still wouldn't love me!  
  
Emma would have continued with her brooding thoughts if an unexpected knock hadn't come from the door. Wondering who it might be, she ran to the door and answered it. Avery and Bacarat smiled evilly at her, and Bacarat pointed a gun at her slender frame.  
  
Emma stared at the two intruders, gaped at the gun, and made a dash for her livingroom. In her hast, she knocked over a priceless lamp, sending it shattering to the ground in a million of fragments.   
  
Bacarat aimed at her, but Avery checked him, saying, "We want the bird alive when we take her." Bacarat sighed and lowered his weapon.  
  
Emma dizzily searched for the revolver Avery had left in her flat. Unfortunately, Avery spotted it first and snatched it up from its resting place on her coffee table. "Now come peaceably, Mrs. Peel." Avery said the name with such disdain that Emma nearly cringed.   
  
Wishing she hadn't drank quite as much and that she wasn't wearing a dress, Emma faced her nemesis. She dove at Avery, but he deftly evaded her move. "I've been taking lessons in self defense ever since we last met." Avery joked mockingly.  
  
Emma gave an unruly hiccup in response, and her secret was instantly revealed. "She's drunk; well, this will make our job easier!" Bacarat exclaimed gleefully. Bacarat grabbed the unsuspecting lady, who tried in vain to loose his strong grip.   
  
Avery grinned wickedly and advanced towards the two. He held up a white handkerchief that was heavily doused in chloroform, placing it over Emma's nose and mouth.  
  
Emma fought the poisoning smell, but it was fruitless. As she slipped into unconsciousness, Emma gave one last look at her now swirling surroundings, and then she knew no more.   
  
To Be Continued . . .  
  
OK. If you hadn't figured it out from earlier chapters, you now know the truth! Well, stick around. Even if the mystery is over for the most part, everything still has to be resolved! 


	6. Second Night

Second Night  
  
Steed strolled out the door of Mrs. Peel's apartment complex, mechanically swinging his brolly. Suddenly, he was pelted with a myriad of gigantic raindrops that thoroughly soaked him in several seconds. Steed rushed over to his old, unroofed car and groaned. "The weatherman predicted rain, so I was absolutely convinced it would be sunny for the remainder of the day." He opened his umbrella emphatically to show how frustrated he was.  
  
"Try putting this tarp over the seats, Steed, and then come home in my car." An arm extended towards him, holding a black tarpaulin. "You could always take a cab back here tomorrow and pick up your car."  
  
Steed followed the arm past the shoulders and up to the head and beheld Tara staring at him in her beguiling manner. I thought you might be needing this protection right about now," she said.  
  
"Tara, how did you find me?!"  
  
"I merely followed my instincts. You have to admit you've been spending an awful amount of time at Mrs. Peel's flat." Tara tried to keep the insinuating tone out of her voice but didn't succeed very well. She helped Steed spread the tarp across his automobile's seats.   
Steed glanced towards Emma's window and replied almost defensively, "We're very good friends, and it just so happens I got involved in a little mystery that revolves around Mrs. Peel."  
  
"I didn't mean to offend you, Steed." To keep from getting wetter and to get closer to Steed, Tara hurriedly stood under the umbrella with him. "Listen, there's been something important I've been meaning to tell you." In an instant, Tara forgot all propriety about how it was indecent to make declarations of love to a married man. Steed was still single as far as she was concerned, so making romantic orations to the one she loved was the appropriate thing to do.  
  
"I- we've been through a lot together, Steed," Tara began, her eyes shining radiantly with love light. "That's why I know it's the right thing to tell you that I-"  
  
"Tara," Steed interrupted gently, "I'm quite aware of your feelings for me, but you know how I am." He patted her arm consolingly, trying to ease her utter disappointment. "I could never love one girl enough to marry her."  
  
"You'll just love all the married women instead, because you know nothing can come of the relationship!" Tara yanked her arm out of his loose grip and turned away from him in an ardent rage. "Oh, go ahead hate me for that remark! At least I'd know what you truly think of me, instead of letting me on in this never-ending charade of flirtations!"  
  
Tara began crying grief stricken tears that horrified Steed. He had never seen a lady so upset over him and his actions in all of his forty some years of life. He tried to comfort her, but it was quite futile. His attempted hindrance seemed to aggravate her more, and Tara began choking on her tears.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry, Steed. "I didn't mean to carry on in such an improper fashion. It's just-"  
  
Steed was about to respond when a clamorous, crashing sound emerged from Emma's flat. Steed and Tara stared at the window in astonishment, and they dashed in to the apartment complex as quickly as was possible. They ran to Emma's front door, only to discover it was opened.  
  
Steed bolted into the flat, and looking at the fragmented lamp now lying on the floor, he immediately knew what had happened. Avery and Bacarat had kidnapped Mrs. Peel. In a flood of desperation, he called, "Mrs. Peel, Mrs. Peel!" No one answered his shouts, as was expected.   
  
Steed ran to the back entranceway and barged out the door. In the distance, a black car was speeding away from the alley. Steed couldn't tell how many people were in the vehicle, but he guessed there were three passengers, Avery, Bacarat, and Mrs. Peel.  
  
Steed trudged back to Emma's flat, frustrated and angry. He despised it when circumstances were out of his control. It made him realise his fallibility, and that realisation caused him to worry more than was advisable. He slouched onto her settee, trying desperately to devise a plan.  
  
Tara broke his sulky silence with the comment, "Maybe Mrs. Peel just went out for some fresh air and in her clumsiness broke a lamp."  
  
"This is neither the time nor the place for frivolous statements, Tara!"  
  
"I was only trying to be helpful," Tara protested peevishly, "and I didn't notice you making any suggestions."  
  
"The time for suggestions is over. We need to be making accusations and solutions. Mrs. Peel was kidnapped, and we need to find her before she is killed."   
"Maybe she already was murdered, and then we'd be wasting time." Tara's pessimistic remark did not bear well on Steed's already flustered brain. As the idea dawned on him, he raised his hands in dismay.  
  
Tara realised her ghastly mistake but didn't try to rectify it. Instead she surveyed the surroundings until something that was white caught her eye. She stooped among the shattered pieces and retrieved a handkerchief. "Steed, look: a handkerchief with," she sniffed the article gingerly, "chloroform on it! Mrs. Peel must have been drugged and then dragged off! This means she wasn't dead when she was taken from her flat! "   
  
"Yes, but where was she taken?" Steed puzzled for a few seconds until he remembered Mrs. Peel's information about Avery and Bacarat hiding in the old, furniture warehouse. "Come on; I think I know where Mrs. Peel is." Steed rushed outside once more, Tara tagging closely behind him.  
  
Tara wouldn't have rescued Emma if it weren't for the fact that it was her patriotic duty to try to save the life of a fellow servant of the Queen. Since this was the case, she suggested they take her automobile because it was faster and had a roof. Steed wasted no time in agreeing, and soon they were speeding down the road through the torrential downpour.  
  
"Poor, Mrs. Peel; I hope we're not too late," Tara murmured untactfully, as she noted Steed's expression. Steed remained emotionless, except for his wrathful eyes.   
  
"If she's not safe, I don't know what I'll do," Steed suddenly proclaimed helplessly. Abruptly, he turned livid and added, "I'll just have to kill Avery and Bacarat if Mrs. Peel is harmed."  
  
Tara's jealousy took hold of her senses as she listened to Steed rue over Emma's kidnapping. She had been on the brink of telling him the truth about his being married, but she was doubly sure she wouldn't now. With this thought in mind, Tara drove towards the warehouse.  
  
*************************  
  
Emma strained to break the heavy hemp rope that was binding her to a rickety chair. Her desperate attempts seemed futile; but nevertheless, she continued to try to break free.   
  
She stopped a moment to survey her surroundings. A large, dark room loomed over and around her, showing off its damp walls and ceiling. A menacing looking metal door stood near the middle of the right wall. Several pieces of old furniture, forgotten and neglected ever since the warehouse had been closed, were strewn over the cement floor.  
  
Emma sighed in despair and cringed when the rope cut into her wrists. She'd just have to wait until Steed arrived. She hoped he remembered what she had told him about Avery and Bacarat's hiding place.  
  
Suddenly, the door opened, and Avery stepped into the room, holding his strange revolver. Bacarat was close behind his accomplice. They grinned evilly as if they knew a sinister secret that couldn't be revealed to a proper woman like Emma Peel.  
  
"Should I gag her, Ed?" Avery reached for his handkerchief and realised with alarm that ir wasn't there. He had left the chloroformed hanky at Mrs. Peel's flat!  
  
Fortunately for him, Ed replied, "No, I want Steed to be able to hear her screams when he arrives. It's so tragic to think that John Steed will be killed when he tries to rescue his lady friend."  
  
"Don't you think Steed will be able to evade your bullets?" Emma nodded at the guns with a questioning gaze.  
  
"Not with our surefire plan." Avery boasted.  
"I'll be standing by the front entrance and Avery will be waiting by the back. If Steed tries to enter the warehouse, one of us will kill him." Bacarat smiled nefariously.  
  
"Then when Steed's dead will come back here and kill you!" Avery seemed to enjoy telling Emma Peel of her impending doom.  
  
"That's your surefire plan? I'd like to see what happens when your strategy fails," Emma replied dryly.  
  
Bacarat didn't seem to hear her impertinent comment. "Isn't it wonderful, Mrs St- I mean Peel? In several minutes, we'll have eliminated two of the greatest spies in Great Britain." Bacarat noted Emma's surprised expression and continued, "Yes, we know that John Wickham Berresford Gascoyne Steed is an agent, and that you were his partner. We know every little insignificant detail about Tara King and Cathy Gale as well."  
  
"We know more about you and Steed than you do yourself. That's why I was able to be your husband without the real Mr. Peel coming back." Avery began to snigger and he had to control himself before he added, "It's time that you were made aware that your husband is in England, running around under a different name than Peel. He doesn't even want to be married."  
  
"That's not true!" Emma looked ready to either clobber him or cry.  
  
Avery was laughing so hysterically that Bacarat had to raise a hand to silence him. He ran out of the room and returned several seconds later. "Steed has arrived, and Tara is with him."  
  
Avery rubbed his hands together briskly. "Splendid, we'll have a triple murder instead of a double."  
  
"Why, may I ask, are you doing this?" Emma stared at them expectantly, waiting for the usual answer.  
  
"My dear lady don't you see? With the best agents out of the way, namely you and Steed, it's only a short while before the country collapses." An wicked glint filled Bacarat's eyes as he continued, "Chaos will reign, and crime rates will soar. In a matter of years, criminals will be ruling the world."  
  
"Why am I not surprised?" Emma remarked dully, indicating that it was most typical to want to rule the world. "You forgot one important factor: Mother has a training program for aspiring spies. Mother will keep making-"  
  
"Addled twits that can't fight or think, but do manage to look pretty," Bacarat interrupted her rudely.  
  
"Doesn't that remind you of a certain young agent named Tara King?" Avery inquired, simpering.  
  
"Avery, let's take our places," Bacarat ordered. The two headed for the front and back entrances, leaving the metal door wide open.  
  
Mrs. Peel was alone with her frenzied thoughts. If she screamed to warn Steed of the great peril that awaited him, he might get careless and step right in front of one of the criminals and their guns. However, if she remained silent, he was in as much danger as before. She decided to warn him and yelled in her loudest voice, "Steed, watch out for Avery and Bacarat!"  
  
Meanwhile, creeping slowly towards the warehouse front entrance, Steed suddenly heard Emma's shouts of alarm. "Mrs. Peel is in there!" he whispered to Tara unnecessarily. Tara merely nodded and continued sneaking to the door.  
  
Avery aimed his gun at the two and pulled the trigger. The revolver clicked but did nothing more. "Blast this malfunction," he cried. "Next time I won't buy a gun from a man who has no identity and sells merchandise on the street." He pulled the trigger again and again. On the fourth try the revolver fired, sending a bullet sailing through the air towards Steed's heart!  
  
However, while Avery had been fiddling with his fluky gun, Tara had heard him. Just as Avery had fired a fourth time, Tara had stepped in front of Steed to alert him about the noises. Just as the bullet whizzed by, Steed stepped back, but unfortunately Tara did not. It grazed Tara's arm, causing her to fall to her knees in pain.  
  
Alarmed, Steed bent over to examine her. "First Mrs. Gale gets a bullet in her arm, trying to save me, and now you." Steed held her in his arms for a moment, consoling her as best as he could. Then with a fit of rage, Steed stood up.  
  
"Steed get down; it's suicide to stand there in plain view," Tara called faintly.  
  
Not heeding her warning, Steed advanced towards the criminal. Avery was too preoccupied pulling the trigger two times in order for the gun to work. When he finally jerked his head up, he was confronted with a glaring Steed.  
  
"You harmed Tara and Mrs. Peel, so now you must pay the consequences." Steed's ruthless side showed through as he pulled out his umbrella handle to reveal a rapier. Avery tried to fire at him, but Steed flung the gun out of his hands with one agile move of the sword. The revolver flew through the air and landed by Tara.  
  
Inflicted with pain, Tara could not retrieve the weapon. The gun gleamed tantalizingly, a pool of water quickly forming as the rain poured down.  
  
Avery faced his adversary bravely, eyeing the revolver all the while. He moved to the left, but so did Steed. Avery stood still for a moment, trying to devise his next move. Finally he made a dash for the revolver, but Steed quickly followed him.  
  
They both grabbed for the revolver, shoving each other in a childish manner. Steed delivered a heavy punch to Avery, which sent him sprawling to the ground. On his way down, Avery kicked Steed, who lost his footing for a moment but quickly regained it.   
  
Tara grabbed the gun, saying to Steed, "Go after him before he gets away!" Steed turned to attack Avery.  
  
Avery had slunk into the warehouse, so Steed hurried after him. Unfortunately as he was about to enter the building, Bacarat came around the corner. He merely glanced at Steed before he opened fire. His gun did not seem to have a malfunction, for he continued to shoot at Steed.   
  
Tara thought of shooting her revolver, but then she knew it would take three more pull of the trigger before it would fire again. Besides, with her wounded right arm it would be difficult to shoot at anything. She might miss Edmund Bacarat and hit Steed instead! All she could do was sit and wait, letting her bones be chilled by the torrent of rain.  
  
Steed dodged the shower of bullets that seemed to be as insistent as the rain. He ran around in a frenzied circle, hoping to confuse Edmund. It seemed to work, for Edmund stopped to reload his gun.   
  
Steed took this opportune moment to stealthily attack Bacarat from behind. He grabbed him by the neck and put his rapier under Bacarat's chin. Bacarat dropped his bullets and gun in surprise and horror. "Now you will show me where Mrs. Peel is," Steed ordered menacingly.  
  
Bacarat looked ready to surrender, but at the last moment he jutted his elbow into Steed's breadbasket. Steed dropped his sword, which pierced Bacarat's flesh. Filled with anger, Bacarat turned on his nemesis and punched him in the jaw.  
  
Steed returned the gesture by boxing his nose. Bacarat kicked his shins and grabbed his wrist. With a powerful surge of energy, he began twisting Steed's hand.  
  
As he fought Bacarat's strong grip, Steed tried to resist the impulse to shout out in great affliction. With his free hand he cuffed Edmund's right eye. Bacarat let go in order to clutch his face in pain. Steed stood still for a moment, rubbing his wrist and regaining his breath.   
  
Bacarat snatched the rapier and pointed its sharp edge at Steed. He kicked his gun into the warehouse, where it was lost in the forbidding darkness. "It's been a pleasure fighting with you Steed," Edmund snarled as he lunged at Steed.  
  
Steed backed up against the outside wall of the warehouse, watching in terror as Bacarat advanced towards him again. He was cornered!  
  
Tara surveyed the dastardly situation and knew she had to save Steed. Shaking, Tara raised the gun in her left arm. She aimed the weapon at Bacarat's back and fired, but, of course, nothing happened. In desperation, she pulled the trigger again, but once more, a blank was fired. Tara watched in horror as Bacarat wrapped his arm around Steed and pulled him to the ground. The revolver went off again as Steed struggled to his feet and tried to punch his opponent. Unfortunately, Avery appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him from behind. If she didn't shoot now, Steed would be killed! Tara aimed at Bacarat who was advancing on the trapped Steed, closed her eyes, and fired a fourth time.  
  
A groan emerged from the lips of Edmund as he fell forward towards Steed. He was still pointing the rapier outward, so Steed only had a second to kick Avery and scurry out of the way. Avery looked at his dead partner in horror and ran off into the warehouse.  
  
Steed watched as Bacarat slumped to the ground, dead. He glanced over at the quaking Tara, and his eyes filled with gratefulness. Steed grabbed his rapier and wandered over to Miss King. Helping her to her feet, he murmured, "Thank you, dear."   
  
They entered the warehouse cautiously, but it seemed that Avery was nowhere in the thick darkness. Steed strained his eyes, trying to get a glimpse of his surroundings. Finally, he stopped walking and waited for his eyes to adjust. When his eyes finally got accustomed to the dark, Steed was able to see a closed metal door right in front of him. He laughed nervously, thinking how stupid he had been not to have seen it until then.  
  
Steed tried to open the door, but it was locked. He leaned against the door and heard scuffling noises. "We've got to break the lock! Hand me the gun, Tara."   
  
Tara did as she was told and watched as Steed shot the lock. Once the lock was broken, Steed burst through the door to behold Avery choking Mrs. Peel, who was tied helplessly to a chair.   
  
Steed wasted no time in a petty fight. He patted Avery politely on the back and waited for him to turn around. Once he had William Avery's full attention, he hit him on the head with the blunt end of the gun. Avery plopped to the floor noiselessly.   
  
Steed smiled in satisfaction and began untying Emma. "How are you, my dear?"  
  
Emma sighed in relief as she was released from her bondage. She carefully stretched her appendages before answering, "Much better now that you've arrived." She gazed at the revolver in his hand and remarked, "You know, for saying you never handle guns, you've been doing a lot of fights that involve using them."  
  
Without missing a beat, Steed replied, "Well, there's always the exception to the rule."  
  
*Note: Cathy gets shot in the arm when she's saving Steed's life in the Episode "The Wringer."  
This incident is what Steed is referring to in my story.  
  
**Note: Patrick Macnee is quoted as saying that Steed never used a gun, but only used his wit and brains. However, Steed is seen using or holding a gun in countless Avenger Episodes. 


	7. Third Day

Third Day  
  
Steed and Emma drove up to Emma's flat in Tara's Lotus. After scrunching in Tara's vehicle to  
take her to the hospital, it was a relief to have just two people in the car. (Tomorrow, Emma  
would drive Tara's car home for her, since she would not be able to drive for awhile. Then Mrs.  
Peel would take a taxi cab back to her own flat.)  
  
The predawn light was casting grey shadows on everything. Silvery leaves on a tree swayed  
restlessly in the light breeze. The whole town, for one hour, was asleep.   
  
Steed and Peel entered her flat, solemn and silent. Suddenly, Emma spoke, "Thank you for  
saving my life."  
  
Steed looked surprised at this comment. He had rescued her from many perils before, but she had  
never thanked him until now. "May I ask you why you suddenly felt the need to tell me of your  
gratitude?"  
  
"I won't ever see you again." Emma glanced forlornly at his stunned face.  
  
Steed nearly staggered backwards in shock. "Why won't you see me again?"  
  
"Because- because my husband is finally coming home, and I know it's not an imposter this  
time," she lied. "I received a telephone call from him yesterday morning." Emma wished she  
didn't love Steed, but as it was, she did. And being a respectable married woman, she could not  
be with him anymore. She wished there was an easier way to get out of her predicament, though,  
instead of lying.  
  
Steed seemed to believe her, for he cleared his throat nervously, and replied, "Well, I guess this  
the end. I mean, goodbye, my dear, and good luck." He tenderly kissed both of her cheeks. "If  
you ever need person to help you solve a mystery or sample champagne and wine with you, just  
call on me."  
  
"That won't ever happen," Emma replied a bit too brusquely, fighting the urge to cry. "It was  
nice seeing you again," she added, trying to make her rude comment less hurtful. Suddenly her  
feelings got the better of her, and two large tears slid down her face.  
  
"Emma . . . I . . ." Not only had he called her by her first name, but Steed seemed ready to say  
something important. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and said, "I'll miss you." With  
this last sentimental remark, Steed exited her flat.   
  
"Steed!" Emma shouted desperately after the dispirited man. But John Steed had already left, not  
only her apartment, but her life.  
  
*********************  
  
  
At noon, Cathy Gale walked up to Steed's front door, sighing deeply. She determinedly knocked  
the door and when no one answered, rang the doorbell. Finally Steed seemed to hear the insistent  
chiming and opened the door. Cathy took one long look at his face and knew something was  
wrong.  
  
He had dark circles under his lifeless eyes, and a small frown was formed across his lips. "Mrs.  
Gale, what a pleasant surprise," he commented monotonously. He opened the door wider to usher  
her in.   
  
Cathy solemnly walked into his flat, but before she could state her business, Steed began the  
cordial ceremony of being a host. "Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Gale, or maybe a cucumber  
sandwich. Mrs, Peel and I-" his voice trailed off. "Anyway, a friend of mine from my RAF days  
used to be enormously fond of cucumber sandwiches. Those were the days, going to the pub  
every night when things weren't going well; going to the pub when they were.  
  
Thinking he was done rambling, Cathy began, "Steed, I need to talk to you. What happened  
yesterday at the old warehouse?"  
  
Steed didn't answer, but instead said, "I remember he used to rave when I didn't make my  
cucumber sandwiches."  
  
"Steed, it's very crucial that I talk to you."  
  
"Well, then speak if it's so urgent- would you care for some brandy?" Steed began pouring a  
glass for her.  
  
"I never indulge in spirits before lunch."  
  
"Do you mind if I have a drink? Good." Steed began guzzling down the drink as if it were water.  
  
"Steed listen to me, please." Cathy stared at Steed, but he merely poured himself another glass.  
"All right, you've forced me to desperate measures." Mrs. Gale grabbed Steed by the arm and  
forced him into a seat. "Now you'll have to answer me. What happened last night at the  
warehouse?"  
  
"Why do you want to know, Mrs. Gale?"  
  
"I read in the newspaper that there was a kidnaping and a rescue last night that. I assumed that  
the you were involved in this case."  
  
"Well, you're right this time. Two men kidnaped Mrs. Peel last night, and Tara and I saved her.  
Poor Tara got shot in the arm."   
  
Cathy raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Will she be all right?"  
  
"Yes; I'm supposed to go pick her up in an hour or so. What a faithful girl that Tara is, unlike  
Mrs. Peel." Steed's eyes sparked with life as he spoke. "Why did she tell me to go away? We  
were happy- well, I thought so."  
  
"I didn't realise until now how desperately in love you are with Emma." Steed made no response  
to deny or affirm this declaration, so Cathy continued, "Why did she tell you to go away?"  
  
"Her husband was coming home, and she didn't think it would be respectable to be friends with  
me or something dull like that."  
  
Cathy jolted in alarm. "That can't be true, Steed! Either Emma is lying, or there's an imposter  
playing her husband again, like William Avery!"  
  
"How did you know about Avery?"  
  
"Every person that worked at the ministry when Charles was the boss knows about the fake Mr.  
Peel."  
  
"That doesn't make any sense, because I didn't know about it."  
  
"That's because you were brainwashed to forget."  
  
"First I was brainwashed to forget I was married, and now I was brainwashed to forget that there  
was an imposter playing Mr. Peel! You should get your head examined, Mrs. Gale."  
  
"Don't be impertinent with me, Steed," Cathy snapped peevishly. "It may interest you to know,  
that I'm quite sane and know perfectly well what I'm saying to you."   
  
"But Mrs. Peel wasn't working as an agent until after Charles left," Steed protested.   
  
Cathy explained rather impatiently, "Emma was familiar with the ministry when Charles was  
there; you just don't remember."  
  
"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."  
  
"If all men are as dense as you, I rejoice that my husband died when he did." Cathy's tone grew  
softer as she continued, "Don't you see, Steed? Emma and you were both brainwashed to forget  
that you were married and to think that a Peter Peel was her husband."  
  
"Why would only us two be brainwashed?"  
  
"Because you and Emma are married- to each other," she added hastily, in case the idea hadn't  
registered in Steed's brain yet.  
  
Steed gawked at her for several minutes, momentarily forgetting his good manners. Then, he  
regained his composure enough to ask, "Do you have any proof of this- this marriage?"  
  
Cathy withdrew a several fold pieces of paper from her purse to reveal all the information from  
John and Emma's personnel files at the agency. Both of their data had explicit details on their  
marriage, such as what day in took place, etcetera.  
  
"That's why Mother was so infuriated when Tara was trying to find Mrs. Pe- er- Steed's file!"  
Steed remarked as he perused the papers. He stopped a moment and exclaimed with some  
excitement, "I remember now; it's amazing! It's as if a wall had been built to block my memory,  
and now you've just broken it down! I must tell . . . Emma," Steed smiled cheerily, enjoying  
saying Emma's first name without having to worry about propriety.   
  
"Steed, I must warn you that if Mother ever knew that you had found out the truth, he'd  
brainwash you again. He thinks that if you two know you're married, you'll start fooling around  
on the job."  
  
"Of all the absurd ideas; I always wait until after a case!"  
  
"This is no time for jokes. You must be very careful, Steed." Cathy advanced towards the door,  
saying, "I'll go pick up Miss King for you, Steed. You'll probably want to take your time telling  
your wife the truth."  
  
"Strange, I always thought I'd hate being married, but right now, I think I could enjoy that kind  
of life." Steed grinned mischievously before continuing, "Please do pick up Tara. Poor girl, she'll  
be brokenhearted when she learns the truth." Little did he know, that she had been aware of the  
true state of affairs since yesterday.   
  
"Tara mustn't know the truth unless absolutely necessary. Now I must return these papers to their  
proper files before someone discovers that their missing, and then I'll take Tara home."  
  
"May I have the papers to show to Mrs. P- Steed?"  
  
"Oh, all right, but I don't want you to be caught with them."  
  
"If there's one thing you shouldn't do, it's to worry about me." Steed mulled for a brief duration  
and remarked slowly, "I think it's time to have a talk with our dear Mother."  
  
"It's very dangerous of you to confront Mother, but I'm behind you all the way." Cathy smiled  
shortly and exited the vicinity.  
  
**************  
  
  
Emma stumbled out of her bedroom for the first time that day, a throbbing headache, the sure  
sign of a hangover, racking her head. It was one o'clock in the afternoon, and how she had  
managed to sleep at all earlier that morning was an enigma to her. But she must have, for the last  
thing she remembered was staring at the ceiling, wondering why she had been so cruel to Steed.  
  
Emma trudged to her kitchen, ready to make a brunch of some sort out of the minuscule amount  
of food in her refrigerator. Grabbing for the eggs, she thought of Steed's stinger and realised he  
wouldn't be coming over to fix her one. Maybe she could fix herself a "national anthem," as  
Steed called his concoction.   
  
After finishing her brunch, which she hardly touched, Emma sat on her couch. She began  
skimming through a magazine, but her thoughts were elsewhere. What was Steed doing at the  
moment? Was he missing her as much as she was missing him?   
  
Suddenly her front door swung open, and Steed came strolling into her living area, whistling  
merrily. "Good afternoon, my dear; how are you? My, you look gloomy; are you sure you slept  
all right? Oh, it's probably that little hangover. I'll fix you my 'national anthem,' and you'll feel  
better in no time."  
  
Emma's first reaction to seeing Steed in her flat was to fling her arms around him in happiness.  
Her next response was to demand what he was doing in her flat, which she did without impunity.  
"What are you doing here after I specifically told you we couldn't see each other any more?"  
  
"I came to make you my stinger." Steed looked around, his eyes glistening with mischief.  
"Where's your husband, my dear?"  
  
"He's- he didn't arrive yet," Emma lied rather awkwardly. "Please leave; it isn't right that you  
should be with me."  
  
Steed was paying no heed to her entreaties and had wandered into her kitchen.   
"I'll need Worcester sauce, one egg, salt, and, of course, a glass. Steed gathered all the  
ingredients and grabbed the nearest object, a coffee cup. As he mixed all the contents, he began  
humming as if nothing was wrong.  
  
Emma gazed desperately at this impudent man. "Steed, I'm going to have to remove that button  
from my door, so you can't get into my flat on your own any more."  
  
"That won't be any good if I'm standing here in your kitchen. Now drink this, my dear."  
  
Emma gave a cry of despair, but willingly took the concoction. After consuming the disgusting  
mixture, Emma began shakily, "Please go away, Steed."  
  
"How can you send me away when I'm madly in love with you?" Steed advanced towards her,  
grinning wildly.  
  
"This isn't happening to me!" Emma moaned as she evaded Steed's reaching arms.   
  
"Emma, say you love me, and I'll go away forever." Steed stared earnestly at her, but Emma  
merely groaned and shook her head.  
  
Finally Emma mustered enough courage to proclaim, "Steed, I love you; there, I said it, so go  
away!" Emma dashed into her bedroom and shut the door.  
  
"Did you really mean that, or were just trying to get rid of me?" Steed shouted to her through the  
door. "Oh, and call me John, dear."  
  
"Why should I call you John?" Emma asked, avoiding the other question.  
  
"It's only fitting since I'm calling you Emma."   
  
"I did not give you permission to use that name!" Emma nearly yelled back at him.   
  
"I have every right to call you that, my dear. Please open the door and come out." There was only  
silence that ensued. Steed seemed rather annoyed at her display of incivility by locking herself in  
her room and then not responding to his comments. "If you don't come out here, I'm going to  
knock down the door!"  
  
"If you even attempt to break my door, I'll- I'll . . . well, I'll do something," stammered Emma in  
desperation. After minutes of silence, she opened the door and stepped out. Unfortunately, Steed  
was still standing quietly outside, waiting for her.  
  
Before she could retreat to her room again, Steed grabbed her by the arms. "Now let's be  
perfectly honest with each other. Mr. Peel is not going to be coming home any time in the near  
future, is he?" Steed grunted in satisfaction as Emma nodded, chagrined. "Well, I have some  
news for you, my dear: Mr. Peter Peel doesn't even exist."  
  
Emma gazed at him in shock and disbelief. "If you weren't so deadly serious, I would be  
scolding you for such a lie until I was blue in the face."  
  
"Before you start reprimanding me, remember that you haven't exactly been the most truthful  
person as of late." Emma began to protest, but Steed checked her. "While we're on the subject of  
husbands, it may also interest you to know that Mrs. Gale's tale about me being brainwashed is  
one hundred percent true."  
  
"You mean to tell me that you are married, yet you have the audacity to make declarations of  
love to me." Emma wrenched her arms out of his grasp and stalked to the front door.   
  
Before she could yank it open and usher him out, Steed added, "You also were brainwashed to  
forget that you're married to me!"  
  
Emma stared at him incredulously, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. For several minutes  
she stood by the front door, as silent as a mute. Finally she gained her speech back and asked,  
"Could it really be true, Steed?"  
  
Steed retrieved the personnel files from his coat pocket and handed them to his wife. While she  
was perusing them, Steed retold the whole story of why they were brainwashed. He made sure to  
put special emphasis on Charles' ridiculous reason to separate them.   
  
When he had finished, Emma exclaimed, "So that's why my memory of my husband was hazy!  
You know, every little mystery makes sense now. Mother hired Richard Thoms to be my  
husband because he wanted to separate us again. Thoms was killed, Avery took over, and he  
almost succeeded in murdering us both."  
  
"He wasn't even close to killing us," Steed argued defensively.   
  
Emma ignored his comment and continued, "Now I know why the picture of my husband looked  
like you, because he is you!" She walked over to the large photo that was still facing the wall.  
She turned it over and gazed at it affectionately. "Husband John, meet . . . husband John."  
  
Steed tipped his bowler in jest and cried, "Delighted to meet you, old chap. May I say that you  
are looking remarkably well this fine day." They both chuckled, utterly amused at their joke.  
  
"To be perfectly serious, I'm much relieved to find that this picture is of you. I was wrestling  
with idea of why this picture of my husband that was taken on our honeymoon looked just like  
you. What I don't understand, though, is why my locket has the initials E. K. P. carved on it  
instead of E. K. S."  
  
Emma lifted the locket that was hanging around her neck and undid the latch. She and John  
examined it carefully, rubbing at the grudge to see the initials better. When most of the grime had  
been wore away, Emma could see that the tiny letters did indeed say E. K. S.  
  
"The small letters were so dirty that I couldn't read it properly," she declared.  
  
"How fortunate for every chief at the ministry that the initials were illegible," Steed remarked  
dryly.   
  
He helped his wife put her necklace back on, and then he tenderly lifted her chin. His eyes  
twinkled with mirth and love as he kissed Emma amorously on the lips. Emma returned the  
gesture with equal emotion, and the two seemed lost in another world for a moment.  
  
"A wonderful performance, you two," came a husky voice. Mother wheeled into view,  
accompanied by Smyth. "It seems a shame that I have to break up this romantic business."  
  
"If it bothers you that much, you could just leave us the way we are," Steed replied in a tranquil  
voice that hid his sarcasm rather efficiently. He held on to Emma as if Mother's irritatingly  
serene voice had the power to take her away from him.  
  
"Before anything gets violent, perhaps we could reason the situation out together," Emma  
suggested.  
  
"What is there to work out, Mrs. Steed? You and Steed know you're married to each other, so  
now when your on a case, you'll botch things with your romantic behavior and tender rapport."  
Mother smiled menacingly before adding, "We'll just brainwash you to save time."  
  
"How do you know that will goof around during a case? We never did before when we didn't  
know the truth, and we had just as much feelings for each other then as we do now." Steed  
crossed his arms across his chest and waited for the answer.  
  
"That was the whole point of programming Emma and you to think she was married to someone  
else. As long as she wasn't free, there remained a barrier that you couldn't cross because of your  
propriety. No respectable rogue would fool around with a married woman."  
  
Steed tried to think of a proper response to that logic. As he was musing, Cathy suddenly burst  
through the door, Tara following behind her.  
  
"I had the most terrible premonition that you two were in trouble. I see that my intuition was not  
wrong." Cathy eyed the two stern men before adding, "I didn't have time to drop off Tara, or I  
would have done so."  
  
"You're just in time to see the Steeds get brainwashed again." Smyth simpered as he spoke,  
something that irked Cathy more than she could stand.  
  
Impulsively, she pulled out her gun and smiled foxily. "Sorry, it's a terrible habit of mine to pull  
out a weapon when distressed or annoyed." Smyth backed into a wall, cowering before this  
impetuous woman.   
  
"It appears you are outnumbered, three to one, and when I tell Tara the truth, it will be four."  
Steed smiled shortly and added, "I don't think the frightened Smyth counts as either friend or foe,  
do you?" Mother's icy glare penetrated the Steeds.   
  
"I already know the truth, Steed" Tara faltered as she stepped forward. "Mother told me  
yesterday, and I just decided to forget it all."  
  
"How could you forget something as important as two people being married?" Emma asked in  
disbelief.   
  
Tara didn't answer, so Steed said, "You knew I was married yesterday, yet you deliberately  
started proclaiming your love for me, in hopes I shared the same feelings. That's an abominable  
thing to do!" With this remark, Tara began to cry quietly.   
  
Steed immediately felt pity for the love struck lass and asked, "Are you satisfied yet, Mother?  
You've now made three people's lives miserable from your selfishness and stupidity." Steed  
advanced towards the obese man, fighting the urge to rap Mother's head with his brolly. "Can't  
you see that it's foolish to continue this procedure of brainwashing? You can't control people's  
lives just for your benefit and security! Someone will always displease you, and you just can't  
keep on programming them. After awhile, they'll be more machine than human!"  
  
Mother's head snapped back at this comment, and Smyth's eyes lit up with understanding. Emma  
and Cathy were beaming proudly at his oration, and even Tara had quit her sniffling to listen.   
  
"Brainwashing helps no one but the person doing it. Everyone who's aware of the ordeal is  
caught up in a network of lies that is a detriment, not only to the brainwashed victims, but to  
themselves. If you can't see the procedure in this way, then I'm afraid I can't work under you. I'll  
just have to join some other ministry."  
  
Mother still did not speak, so Smyth exclaimed, "I cannot be your right hand man any more,  
Mother. I realise my error and must join forces with Steed, even though I'm completely jealous  
of him."  
  
"Why on earth are you jealous of Steed?" Emma asked.  
  
"Steed always has the best of everything, the most beautiful woman to work with, the most  
wonderful wife, the best cases, etcetera. Everyone admires him, except the criminals, and even  
then some of the female villains seem to find him charming. I always get the second best with  
everything, including my wife. That's why I've been divorced for five years."  
  
"Well, maybe if you acted more like Steed, people would appreciate you more," Tara replied  
almost accusingly.  
  
Cathy, who had been listening with deepest sympathy, cried, "Don't you dare start acting like  
that ladies' gentleman, John Steed! You're fine the way you are, well, except for your tendency  
to be ruthless."  
  
Smyth suddenly turned red with pleasure. "Mrs. Gale, I didn't know you liked me! I always was  
so jealous when you and Steed were working together. If I had been aware of your feelings, I  
wouldn't have been so heavily involved in the brainwashing ordeal." He walked over to Cathy  
and took her by the arm.  
  
"That's one of the reasons I never told you, Smyth!" Cathy sighed but then smiled slightly. "Let's  
forget about our communication difficulties and think about the future, which involves helping  
the Steeds." She got out of his tender grasp and turned to Mother, who seemed to still be  
brooding.  
  
Tara tentatively addressed Steed, "I'm awfully sorry about my behavior, Steed. I realise now that  
I could have never won your affection, so I- I release you." She knew she never had Steed to  
begin with, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.  
  
She strolled over to him and gave him his wedding band. "I found it hidden in one of your  
drawers at home. I was planning on getting rid of it, but now I want you to have it, so you can-  
can have a token to represent your marriage."  
  
Steed gingerly slipped the ring on his left hand and gazed at it for a moment. "Thank you very  
much, Tara." He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. It seemed too much for the girl,  
for she crimsoned and almost toppled over in ecstasy.  
  
"That reminds me," Emma began, "I don't know where my wedding band is. I thought it had  
gotten destroyed in that great fire, but there never was such a catastrophe."  
  
"I can supply the answer to that, Mrs. Steed." Smyth rubbed his hands together nervously. "It was  
taken, along with all your photos, to my flat, and they've been locked in a closet ever since. You  
can come over to my flat any day and pick up your articles."  
  
"Well, I appreciate that piece of information immensely," Emma replied, extremely pleased and  
relieved.  
  
"With all this talk you'd think I wasn't going to brainwash you two, again," Mother said  
suddenly.   
  
All eyes turned expectantly towards this powerful man, and for a brief moment, no none dared  
breathe. Emma stood in a kung fu stance, ready to use the maneuver on Mother if need be. Steed  
stood next to his beloved, eager to assist her with anything. Cathy put her hand on the trigger,  
even though she really didn't want to use the weapon.  
  
Mother gazed from one face to another and sighed. "As it is, I feel that I don't need to brainwash  
anyone, so you two can continue your married life together without any more interference from  
me."  
  
"Steed, isn't it wonderful?" Emma cried as she flung her arms around his neck.  
  
Steed swung her around several times before he stopped and kissed her gently on the lips. "We  
can continue spying until we're old and grey."  
  
"I'll give them a month, and if the marriage doesn't work out, I'll brainwash them again," Mother  
muttered inaudibly.  
  
"Well, you certainly made a wise decision, Mother," was Cathy's response. She addressed the  
ecstatic Steeds. "My congratulations to the both of you; I knew we could do it." With that  
cheering remark, she and Smyth exited the building together.  
  
Tara was a little more dismal about the news. "I hope someday I can find another man like you,  
Steed, and that we'll be as happy as you two. My only question is, who's going to be my partner  
now?"  
  
"I think I have the right chap for you, Tara," Mother replied. "Do you remember my nephew,  
Basil? He's a new agent and needs a fairly experienced person, like yourself, to be his partner.  
Come; we can discuss the details at my office outside." He pointed out the window to a double  
decker bus, indicating his "office."  
  
Tara took one last look at Steed before quitting the apartment. "I'll miss you, Steed."  
  
"Don't be so gloomy, acting like we can never meet again. I'll come visit you as often as you  
like," Steed assured her.  
  
"Maybe we could become good friends, Tara," Emma suggested optimistically.  
  
Tara smiled a bittersweet smile and answered, "I sincerely hope so, Mrs. Steed." She exited the  
flat with Mother.  
  
Once everyone had gone, Steed and Emma sat down on her couch with relief. "I wonder," Emma  
began slowly, "where we should live, here or at your flat."  
  
"We'll rent a new flat, so we won't have to bother about it."  
  
"Sounds like a reasonable idea to me." Emma stood up and poured them some champagne from  
her personal bar. "How about we go out to dinner to celebrate our newfound marriage?"  
  
"Splendid, I can finally take you to that little French Cafe I told you so much about." Steed  
sipped his champagne gingerly.  
  
"Now, what should we do in the mean time?" Emma gazed at him for a suggestion.  
  
Steed nearly choked on his champagne, since the answer seemed simple to him. Raising his  
eyebrows, he turned the other way to regain his composure. Finally he managed to say, "I'm sure  
we can think of something if we put our heads together."  
  
Emma smiled demurely, finally catching on. "I hope you don't grow tired of me, Steed. You are  
going to be seeing a lot of me for an awfully long time."  
  
"The more time we have together, the better, my dear."   
  
Smiling, the two great Avengers exchanged their famous mutual glance and raised their glasses  
for a toast. "To many more years of being together!" Steed exclaimed.  
  
"To us!" Emma added quietly, and Steed didn't need to ask what that meant. With Emma, he just  
knew.  
  
  
Tag  
  
  
"Are you ready yet, my dear?" Steed asked as he set his bowler and brolly on the counter. He  
gazed in the direction of Emma's bedroom, wondering what was taking so long.   
  
"I'm just about finished," Emma called as she stepped out of her room. She was trying, with  
great difficulty, to connect the clasp of her faux ruby necklace. Finally she managed to latch it,  
and she smiled provocatively at Steed.  
  
"You'll love the cafe, Mrs. Peel," Steed exclaimed. "I even spruced up my trusty car for the  
occasion."  
  
Emma's smile vanished as he called her by her fake name. "Poor John, don't tell me that you  
were brainwashed!"  
  
"What are you talking about, Mrs. Peel; brainwashing indeed! I never heard of anything so  
ridiculous, except maybe once."  
  
"What are we going to do, now that you've been brainwashed!"  
  
Steed stared at her in a peculiar manner for a moment and then kissed her passionately on the  
lips. "Is that better, Emma, my dear? I promise I won't trick you again."  
  
Emma picked up his bowler and swatted him on the nose. "That was a very naughty joke you  
played, giving me quite a fright." Steed merely grinned in response and escorted her out the door.   
  
When Emma saw Steed's car, she came to a complete halt. "Are you positive all that is  
necessary?" She pointed to the car, indicating that the sprucing Steed did to it was rather  
unappreciated by her. "Besides, isn't it a bit dishonest?"  
  
"I don't see what's so dishonest about the trimming. We did just discover we were married, so  
eliminate the words, 'discover we were,' and the sign is most befitting."   
  
Emma shrugged, and waited patiently as Steed helped her into the car and then hopped into the  
driver's seat. With a pop and a bang, his old jalopy took off down the street. The tin cans and  
other noisy objects that were tied to the back clattered behind them, and the sign which read "Just  
Married," billowed in the breeze.  
  
Steed turned a corner, and the two road off into the sunset.  
  
The End!  
  
So What did you think of my story? Do you like the idea of Emma and Steed being married? Or  
maybe you don't. Oh, well, you can always take comfort in Mother's remark, "I'll give them a  
month, and if the marriage doesn't work out, I'll brainwash them again." For the rest of us,  
Hurrah for Steed and Mrs . . . Steed! 


End file.
